Anne Sherwood: or, The social institutions of England

L I E) R.A R.Y

OF THE

UN IVER5ITY

Of ILLINOIS

823
K84a

ANNE SHERWOOD:

SOCIAL INSTITUTIONS OF ENGLAND.

" II faut 6ter les masques des choses, aussi bien que des personnes !"

MoNTAtONB.

" Per me si va nella citti dolente :
Per me si va nell' etemo dolore :
Per me si va tra la perduta gente." — Dante.

" Our soul is exceedingly filled with the scorning of those that are at
ease, and with the contempt of the proud."-T-Ps. cxxiii., BibU Version.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1857.

LONUOK :

BAVtLl ANn EJ)WARDS, PRINTKKS. CUANDOS STREET,

COVKNT GAHDKN.

ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE I.

The fortune of Mr. Maberly being mode-
rate, it precluded liis taking that position in
London, wliich his ambition would otherwise
have led him to assume. With sundry re-
gretful sighs, he saw himself obhged to forego
a lordly mansion, and to turn liis longing

looks from B or E Square, lest the

contemplation of the impossible should cost
him too severe a pang.

A handsome, famished house in"

Place, one of the dependencies of the happy
regions, was selected and hired for Mr.
Maberly' s family; and therein they were
speedily established. Friends and acquain-
tance called ; two or three titled cards were
carefully put in the little fancy plateau on

VOL. II. B

2 ANNE SHERWOOD.

the clrawing-room table — of course on tlie
top — and they looked remarkably well.

Annie Sherwood found that several of
Greraldine's predictions were verified ; not
that she was admitted to the drawing-room,
but Mrs. Maberly really did show herself
good-natured. She gave Annie free permis-
sion to go and see her friends (she had so
many to see!) when her day's work was over,
and frequently desired her to take the six
children to see various sights, including the
wonders of Madame Tussaud's artistic gal-
leries, and the axe (the very identical axe)
in the Tower, which had slain the fair Anne
Boleyn, the Spanish collar of torture, and
other pleasant things. Now a governess is
seldom privileged to see all these nice things ;
and if so favoured, she ought to feel espe-
cially grateful, and behave like the good
little girl in Er. Mavor's spelling-book, whose
aunt took her to see Miss Cox's baby-house.
But our heroine, being, alas ! very imperfect,
did not feel as happy and thankful as she
ought.

One great pleasure she had which she
really did appreciate ; she was located in a
dehghtful httle study, wdiich happened to
contain a select library of works of fiction.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 3

And Annie, who knew as familiar friends
Homer and Yirgil, Demosthenes and Cicero,
had scarcely made the acquaintance of Walter
Scott; but no sooner had she obtained a
glimpse of the glorious world of his creation,
than she threw aside her attempts at author-
ship in disgust, and gave up nearly all her
leisure hours to the study of the Wizard.
In the evening Annie often had to resign
her pleasant sitting-room, for there is no
ceremony in ejecting a governess from her
accustomed precincts when they are wanted
for other purposes, that is, for more impor-
tant persons. She never thought of mur-
muring at this, for she could carry with her
such delightful company — the Master of
Eavenswood, or the Knight of Snowdon,
perhaps. Besides, by a strange accident, her
own room was a pleasant one ; it had been,
and would be again, that of a young girl,
who had left many a token of her graceful
presence behind her. It seemed to Annie,
as she looked round on the drawings with

which Miss B 's taste had adorned the

chamber, and the everlasting wreaths which
encircled some of them, as though she had
something in common with the young girl,
and should love her if they met.
B 2

4 ATs^NE SHERWOOD.

But tliougli Mrs. Maberly allowed lier
governess to go and see Madame Tussaud's
wax figures and tlie instruments of torture,
&c., and although she communed w^ith Scott's
creations, and Milton and Shakspeare came
to sing to her, in her solitude, of Paradise
and the realms of Oberon, it must not be
supposed that her life was all couleur de rose.
No ; several circumstances conspired against
her, poor girl. The comparatively small size
of the house occasioned an almost utter an-
nihilation, of even the degree of discipline
she had been enabled to establish among her
pupils in the old country mansion. The
reader mil ask why ? AVliat had the size of
the house to do with it ? Everything, kind
reader ! You have never been a governess !

In the large, old country house, in the
remote regions of the school-room, a child
with even tolerably strong lungs might (when
required to do two sums instead of one, to
learn fifteen words of spelling instead of
fourteen) go through the fatiguing process
of screaming for an hour, without any result
but weariness to herself; taking this into
consideration (and little men and women have
very reflective powers), ten to one but the
ill-used child would abstain from a storm

^ ANNE SHERWOOD. 5

which could not reach mamma's ears, whereas,
in the smaller space of a London house, one
piercing scream, requiring but a momentary
effort, would be quite sufficient to attract the
indulgent parent. On these occasions Mrs.
Maberly was not in the habit of scolding
the governess. 'No ; she only took the in-
jured child out of the room, forgave her
lessons, and granted her some special treat,
to make up for the supposed injustice inflicted
on her.

At last things came to such a pass that
the beauty would walk nonchalantly into the
school-room in the morning, miwashed and
uncombed (having dared a new nurse to
touch her), and exclaim, " I am only to do
two lessons to-day. Miss Sherwood, and I am
to choose which they shall be."

The Maberly hopes had likewise a very
particular talent for quarrels and for tor-
menting each other. Unfortunately, they
usually tested then- pugnacious powers in the
most public place they could find. The Park
or the street was often selected as the theatre
of a biting or scratching match. In vain,
on these occasions, did the poor, disheartened
governess endeavour to allay the fierce,
though puny strife ! Deprived of all autho-

6 ANNE SHERWOOD.

rity by the folly of a weak-minded mother,
who mistook pampering for tenderness, cer-
tain that no correction wonld be sanctioned
or permitted, Annie's efforts for the improve-
ment of her charges were all destined to meet
disappointment.

The end (alas ! a common result in such
cases, and there are thonsands, tens of thou-
sands of them), the end was, that the gover-
ness, instead of correcting her pupils' way-
wardness, ruined her own temper and became
irritable, if not morose. Geraldine grew a
great, strong girl with a warm, impulsive
heart, and as warm, as impulsive a temper.
She kicked her sister in a sudden fit of pas-
sion ; the governess ventured to interfere,
and Geraldine, resenting tliat interference,
knocked her down with a blow on the chest
which would have done honour to a profes-
sional pugihst. In an evil hour the gover-
ness returned the blow, by giving her dutiful
pupil a slap on the shoulder. Poor gover-
ness ! poor child ! The governess lost her
self-respect, and the child saw one whom she
should have been taught to reverence, brought
down to her own level. Yet in the heart of
that poor governess, there was a deep well of
love ready to gush up and overflow, for any

ANNE SHERWOOD. 7

one who would call it forth by one word, one
look of sympathy ! Perhaps not less love
dwelt in the soul of the wayward girl, whose
better instincts had been choked and whose
evil inclinations had been too surely fostered
by a mother's blindness. There was not one
bad heart in the Maberly family, positively
not one ; but they very rarely seemed happy
themselves, and certainly never allowed those
about them to be so for an hour at a time.

Soon after her arrival in town, Annie
had taken an opportunity of seeing Bertha
Somerton, whom she found scarcely recog-
nisable, so much had a life of comfort and
happiness done to renovate her youth and
spirits.

Mrs. Harrington had proved indeed a
friend, and while suffering herself from one
of the deepest sorrows the human heart can
experience, found in the midst of grief
some alleviation in caring for others. Her
husband was unchanged, and patient endu-
rance was settling down into the calm melan-
choly of hope resigned. She had never
yielded to angry feelings, there were none
such in her nature, and she loved her hus-
band still.

Bertha spoke enthusiastically of Mrs.

8 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Harrington, wlio, not contented with giving
her a bare stipend, had, though with the
utmost delicacy, pressed on her so many
useful gifts, that she had been enabled to
devote nearly all her salary to her mother's
use. Bertha had also had the happiness of
paying her mother a visit — spending six
weeks at Merton ; the first hoHday she had
had granted to her, since the commencement
of her governess life. Of course Annie and
Bertha had a thousand things to ask and
tell each other, of their mutual experience
since they had parted, yet more of the little
doings of Merton, dear old Merton ! Annie
anxiously asked. She would hear of every-
body, from her dear father's right-hand man,
the round-faced, fat churchwarden, down to
the poor blind, old w^oman, to whom she and
Ellen had been wont to read the Bible.

All the Merton news was satisfactory.
The poor had declared that they " Hked the
new minister well, though he could never be
to them what their own Mr. Sherwood had
been." Still they Hked him, all but one
poor old woman, who had " heard that Mr.
Backhouse was a pious minister, but did not
see how that could be, for she'd been up to
the ^dcarage to get a letter writ to her son

ANNE SHERWOOD. \)

in Ingy, and slie'd seen with her own eyes
that he'd got graven images in his house,
and the Bible was clear against that !" The
graven images in question, were the first
busts ever imported to Merton ! " Mr.
Sherwood never had graven images to bow
down to, that he hadn't." The good inha-
bitants of Merton had asked with eager
soHcitude after the welfare of their beloved
pastor's daughters.

Mr. Turner had made his inquiries with a
kind of nervous trepidation, which either
showed that he could not name Annie Sher-
wood without emotion, or else that he was
intimidated by the presence of Bertha, she
being the only person in Merton who had
seen Greneral Tom Thumb or heard Jenny
Lind !

" Have you seen Miss Maynard lately ?"
inquired Annie, when the Merton visit had
been fully discussed.

" Oh yes, she often comes to see me," re-
pHed Bertha ; " Mrs. Harrington has taken
quite a fancy to her, and presses her to come
frequently, I told you every one liked
Hortensia, and thought her clever !"

"Is she stni at Sir William S 's?"

" Still ; do go and see her ; she will be

10 ANNE SHERWOOD.

delighted with your visit. But do you
know, Annie, I begin to fear that she will

not stay at the S 's. I only gather this

from hints, however. If she leaves, it will
be extremely awkward for her, as it is gene-
rally understood that she is more the friend
of the family than the governess. I scarcely
know what she can do to account for the
separation."

Annie Sherwood found with surprise that
the happy year which Bertha had spent at
Mrs. Harrington's, in teaching sweet children
things useful for time and for eternity — in
daily communion too with the kindest heart
and the most refined mind, had so effectually
effaced all painful impressions of her bond-
age at Mrs. Cheshyre's, that Bertha was
ready to smile at her past troubles. She
would even aver that things had not been
as bad as she had imagined them. " The life
of a governess may be made an easy one,"
said Bertha, " if she is only contented with
the allotment of Providence." She even
went so far as to smile incredulously when
Annie recalled to her several little things
she had herself related, exclaiming, "Dear
Annie, you must have dreamt that ! I
never told you so." And certainly Bertha

ANNE SHERWOOD* 11

was lionest in her declaration, only present
peace had obliterated past suffering.

Mrs. Harrington received Annie with the
greatest kindness, and asked her to spend
the evening. Mr. Harrington was fortu-
nately absent. Mrs. Harrington inquired
after Ellen with great interest, but carefully
avoided making any allusion to her late
connexion with the Elmgrove family. She
well understood the exact state of the case,
though it had been very differently repre-
sented to her.

Late in the evening a carriage stopped at
the door. Mrs. Harrington started; she
feared that her husband had arrived; and
for some reasons, scarcely self-explained, the
unfortunate wife had an instinctive feeling
that she would not like him to become better
acquainted with Annie Sherwood, who some
way could be, and was, more charming, when
once engaged in conversation, than a regular
beauty. But it was a lady's voice in the
hall ; and with a mingled feeling of curiosity
and pain, Annie heard Miss Sophia Ferrers
announced.

" Has anything happened to my sister !"
exclaimed Mrs. Harrington, who was quite
unprepared for so sudden an arrival.

12 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Nothing. Indeed she's very well, — as
well as you or I, if she'd only throw her
novels in the fire and give up the sofa,"
replied Sophia. " I have run up to town,
under the protection of mamma's maid, to
do a little shopping — in fact, to buy my
trousseau."

" Your trousseau ! I did not know that
you were engaged, Sophia !"

" Oh yes, I have been engaged two years
to my cousin, Francis Vincent (you know
Francis Vincent). He has been wonderfully
constant, considering the pains that my kind
sister Caroline has taken to lure him from
me. Of course mamma told you all about
that odious Miss Sherwood's affair. After
using every vile art to draw Francis to her,
at last she got one of her low associates to
way-lay and nearly murder him. We knew
nothing of it till the fellow had gone to
America, or Australia, or somewhere, they
say, to shake her off — for Francis most nobly
kept it all to himself, and pretended that he
had been thrown from his horse. I don't
know the least what has become of the
wretched, intriguing creature !"

" But I do, Sophia," said Mrs. Harrington,
who had made several vain efforts to stop

ANNE SHERWOOD. 13

the torrent of vindictive misrepresentation ;
" Ellen Sherwood is living with an estimable
and religions family, where her virtuous
integrity and conscientiousness are appre-
ciated, as I did hoj)e they would have been
in my sister's house. This lady is Miss
Sherwood's sister; when I tell you so, I
trust you will regret your hasty judgment
and its most uncharitable expression."

" My dear Mrs. Harrington, you always
were eccentric, and always will be. Pray is
it true that you have set up as an assistant
to the City Mission ? TJiat you go into all
the vile holes in London ? I hear that, a la
Shaftesbury, you frequent regular dens !
What can you find there ?"

" Much sin and misery," answered Mrs.
Harrington, slightly colouring.

*' And you think you're right to go into
it?"

" I only follow humbly in the footsteps
of our Great Exemplar, Sophia," said Mrs.
Harrington, gravely.

"Who is that?" asked Sophia. "Do
you mean Lord Shaftesbury? Of course
his high rank covers all his oddities,
but "

" Unfortunate girl !" exclaimed Mrs. Har-

14 ANNE SHERWOOD.

rington, "in what scliool have yon been
taught ?"

" In one of my own inventing, I believe.
Oh, how glad I am that Prancis has no
Methodist notions ! I declare we have had
no peace of onr lives ever since Ellen turned
religions ! There's a precious instance for
you ! She grows worse and worse ; has been
everything by turns, and nothing long.
Once she was as gay as I, then was suddenly
converted, grew strictly evangelical, turned
Puseyite, then moderate, and has now gone
over to the Wesleyan Methodists."

" But that is no argument against religion,
merely a proof that poor Ellen had not
enough of what you call Methodism."

Sophia had particular reasons for keeping
on good terms with Mrs. Harrington. She
found her hospitable house particularly con-
venient on occasions ; besides, she liked
flirting with Mr. Harrington. She did not
again refer to Ellen Sherwood.

Annie had risen to depart, not only from
a natural repugnance to remaining in the
company of one wdio spoke so insultingly of
her sister, but also because (though on ac-
count of her hostess she endeavoured to
restrain her indignation) she feared that

ANNE SHERWOOD. 15

she conld not continue silent, slionld Ellen
be again mentioned so disparagingly.

" But you are not going yet !" said Mrs.
Harrington, in her kindest tone; adding,
with marked emphasis, ''it is not often that
I am enabled to enjoy such company as
yours; you must not so soon deprive me
of it."

Sophia raised her eyebrows, so that
Annie might observe her action, though she
hoped Mrs. Harrington would not. She
raised them still more when Mrs. Harrington
ordered the carriage to convey Annie home !
" No, not home 1" thought Annie, but with
more of melancholy than bitterness.

When our heroine withdrew, Mrs, Har-
rington's farewell was so cordial, that it
might be called affectionate, and her coun-
tenance evinced her sincerity.

" Is she not the most loveable creature in
the world?" said Annie to Bertha, who had
left the room with her.

" She is an angel !" replied Bertha,
warmly. " Grod bless and reward you for
sending me to live with her 1"

16 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE II.

It happened that Annie Sherwood had, ac-
cording to the custom of Belgravians,
" which altereth not " in such matters, to
conduct her pupils to the gardens of the

Square every morning. There the

cliildren were w^ont to play together ; and
provided they were not very quarrelsome, it
was a sort of holiday hour for the tired
governesses, who might sit down on the
benches, and watch their young charges
while they themselves conversed.

The younger children of the Maberly
family, who had not gone so thoroughly
through the process of spoiling as then'
sisters, were particularly attached to their
governess. The brightest moments in Annie's
life were those in which the youngest child,
a lovely cherub with bright golden ringlets
and blue eyes that danced in hght, would
stop in the midst of her play, and, rusliing
towards her, tlirow her arms fondly round
her neck, while her infantine lips wliispered,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 17

" Don't cry, you beauty !" and the tiny hand
wiped away a stray tear. "Beauty" was
that child's fondest term of endearment to
her, — all she loved was beautiful. Her little
heart was a world of love ! Annie Sher-
wood doted on the sweet child, and in after
years never recalled the artless tenderness
that had soothed so many a sorrowful hour
without tears.

Yes, those little wayward, spoilt children
had all warm, generous hearts, and Annie could
not choose but love them, even the girl that
had lifted her hand against her. " It is not
their fault," she would say, when reviewing
what they had done in her calmer moods.
Then she VvTould think of their mother, and
of v/hat was amiable and excellent in her ;
her open-hearted charity, her deep though
mistaken love for her children, her com-
parative indulgence to herself, giving her
liberty to see her friends, not overtasking
her strength, &c. ; and the result of these
cogitations usually was, '^ Mrs. Maberly has
a kind heart, but she is enslaved by the
world. I will try to be thankfal for the
instances in which she is kind, and will re-
solutely tm-n my eyes away from the pride
that so constantly hurts my feelings. I

VOL. II. c

18 ANNE SHERWOOD.

will try to be more patient with Greraldine.
I have not been as endTi];^ng as I ought
to be. Tor dear Antonia's sake I will
strive to please her sister." All this looked
well in theory; but when the practice of the
theory came to be tried — when the violent
scenes of strife recurred — when the poor
children, unrestrained by any just authority,
fought with and injured each other, the
strong oppressing and ill-treating the weak !
— agam and again Annie lost patience.
Again and again the foohsh mother assured
her that all w^ould come right "with time.

Annie Sherwood found plenty of food for
amusement and speculation, among the
numerous governesses she met in the
gardens. She found that they usually be-
came acquainted and confidential without the
ceremony of an introduction. So would
Eobinson Crusoe have become with any set
of men, had he been favoured with an acci-
dental rencontre now and then in his desert
world, with those situated like himself.

A few of the governesses, however, held
themselves aloof from the rest, and prevented
their pupils joining in the merry games of
the general tln^ong of cltildren. The ex-
clusives were principally ladies residing in

ANNE SHERWOOD. 19

noble families, who, from clinging for a
year or two to the skirts of nobility, almost
dreamt that they might say " people of our
rank !" Silly pretenders, you are but upper
servants after all ! Drop those haughty airs,
which become you as little as the lion's
skin became the ass — drop them, I say ; if
your noble masters came by, you know you
must !

It w^as very easy to distinguish the few
wdio were on confidential terms with their
employers. Thek countenance, their very
walk showed it. Proud consciousness of
their position shone forth in their eyes. No
royal favourite ever more plainly bore the
stamp of the dignity he enjoyed.

Among the governesses was one young
girl — yes, literally a young girl, for she
could not have known more than nineteen
years of joy and sorrow; no doubt both had
fallen to her share. She was a Swiss ; not a
beauty, but a fair, gentle creature, whose
very look of innocence and trust seemed to
claim sympathy and protection.

Annie Sherwood was sitting on the same

bench with the young stranger, who was

reading w^hile her Sieves were at play. It

is a capital offence in a governess to read

c 2

20 ANNE SHERWOOD.

under such circumstances, even if she
should look up from every second line
to note the safety of her pupils. But the
stranger was ignorant of the extent of her
dehnquency — she did not yet know her craft ;
it was not many months since she had left
her native valley and her fond mother.

The young governess looked up at her
pupils, and her eye caught Annie's, fixed
on her with kindly interest. Juhe did not
hesitate to speak.

" Have you read this ?" said she, extending
her hand to show the hook she held. She
spoke in French; but Annie replied in
English that her knowledge of French was
too limited to enjoy the beauties oi V Histoire
des Girondins.

"You don't know well the French?" said
Juhe. " I am sorry ; but I shall teach you."

" You are very kind," said Annie, " very
kind indeed ; but what opportunity shall I
have of receiving, or you of giving lessons ?"

" Oh, very good occasion ! You come
here every morning, don't you ?"

" Yes, unless it rains."

" And I come whether it rain or not," said
Julie, sighing a little. " Well, then, v^^hen
it is fine, I shall bring with me a grammar

ANNE SHERWOOD. 21

and a reading-book, and so you sliall learn.

I live in Street, with Lady T ; and

you, where do you live ?"

" In Place," said Annie.

" That's not very far. You will come and
see me ; I will go and see you."

" But will Lady T approve ?"

" She will not think about it. I am always
alone in the evening. But the lesson shall
be here ; morning is the best time to study."

" I am very grateful for your offer," said
Annie, " but I am afraid you must not do
what you propose."

'^ Why not?"

" Because Lady T will think you are

neglecting the children while thus engaged."

"But I am not at all absent, and we
should be all near my Beves. I should not
cease looking."

" It wont do," said Annie ; " it will only
get you into trouble ; we must not think of
it. But perhaps we can arrange for some
other plan. I can go to see you some
evening. But you have not told me your
name."

"JuHe."

" But the other, the surname ?"

" Angelet ; and yours ?"

22 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Sherwood," said Annie, who thought,
of course, that she and her new acquaintance
would be Miss Sherwood and Mademoiselle
Angelet to each other. Not so thought
Julie; she must know her new friend's
Christian name, and call her by it. More-
over, she was ready in aU sincerity to vow a
life-long friendship to one unknown to her
an hour previously. JuHe's simplicity and
evident innocence amused and interested
Annie. There was something in her — only
a look, a very slight look — which reminded
her of her dear Ellen ; that alone would have
formed a bond of union between Annie and
the stranger. But after a short acquaintance
(which, in leading our heroine to think of
her friend's troubles, diverted her mind from
her own cares) she learnt to love Julie for
her own sake. She soon found that the
poor foreigner's life was one of hourly
torture. Eeader ! the detail of a day spent

by the governess in Lady T 's family

would only produce an incredulous smile on
your countenance. You v/ould indignantly
exclaim, " This is a vile slander ; such people
do not exist ! such scenes never take place !"
The vmter of these pages therefore abstains
from placing before you a vivid picture of

ANNE SHERWOOD. 23

tlie miseries wliich that poor young foreigner
bore — bore meekly, far from lier native land,
from liome, affections, and from sympathies,
— bore, because she had a mother, a widow
and in poverty.

" AVhy don't you leave ?" exclaimed
Annie, one day. The answer was tears from
those sweet, innocent eyes, and the words
" Ma mere r

Annie Sherwood fulfilled her promise of
calling on Julie. She was admitted by a
page, w^ho, jerking his finger over his
shoulder, pointed to the staircase, curtly
answering her inquiries by " Up there 1"

" But where ? which room ?"

" Top of the house ; sure to find it," said
the boy, with a grin ; and he let himself out
by the hall door, which he closed after him,
leaving Annie standing alone, and embar-
rassed as to what she should do.

A ponderous dinner-bell sounded. Annie,
fearing to meet some of the party from the
drawing-room, made a rush up the staircase,
and flew, rather than ran, to what she sup-
posed to be the top of the house.

A light glimmered from under a door ; it
must be the school-room. " Julie," said
Annie, softly; more she could not say, for

24 ANNE SHERWOOD.

her breath was gone. 'No answer; she
lifted her hand to knock, but ere she could
do so the door suddenly opened, displaying
a lady's dressing-room; and a voice of peculiar
harshness and asperity exclaimed, " Who are
you, and what is your business ?"

" I have mistaken this room for the school-
room. I came to see Mademoiselle Angelet,"
replied Annie, with an unmoved countenance
and in a firm tone.

" Then you can't see her ; she asked leave
to go out for the afternoon, so I suppose she
is gone. But what is your business ?"

" I thought I had told you, madam ; to
see Mademoiselle Angelet."

" Well, if you wanted to see her, you must
have had something to say to her, and you'll
just tell me what it was !"

" It was what one friend might say to
another, but would not be coerced into de-
tailing to a stranger. I am sorry I have
disturbed you. Good evening." And Annie
tmmed away.

" Stop, stop !" cried Lady T ; then

called up another flight of stairs, which
had before escaped Annie's observation,
"Here's a j)erson wandering about the
house who sa^s she came to see Mademoi-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 25

selle :" but Annie liacl succeeded in making:
lier escape.

She was in a very gloomy mood the whole
of the following day, and, alas ! tried her
new-born powers in French, by thus writing
to Julie : —

" C'est en enfer que vous vivez, chere
Julie. Y aller pour vous voir ! impossible !"

ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE III.

Though ruffled by the scene she had just

passed through at Lady T 's, Annie

soon recovered her equanhnity. A few days
afterwards she called on a governess acquain-
tance, whose usually smiling face led her to
expect that her life was differently spent to
that of the unfortmiate Julie.

Mademoiselle Clairvault was giving her
pupils their lessons, in the usual kind of
half-furnished den at the top of the house,
commanding an extensive view of a whole
street of mews.

The governess did not at first perceive
Annie's entrance. The children were nomi-
nally engaged in ciphering ; that is to say,
they had slates before them with imposing
rows of sums on their surface, but one girl
was looking over a picture-book^ another
scratching the table with a pin, a third
behind her preceptress's chair mischievously
busy in cutting a hole in her lace collar, w^ith
a pair of sharp scissors. Mademoiselle her-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 27

self, entirely unconscious of their proceed-
ings, was absorbed in a volume of Matldlde^
ou les Memoires cVune Jeuiie Femme.

Annie advanced, and laid lier hand on the
shoulder of the reader, who looked up at her
with a vivacious smile, and taking in at once
the meaning of the grave face bending over
her, exclaimed, " I know well at what you
think ! mais que voulez-vous 1 on me trompe,
et je trompe a mon tour !" Then drawing
her visitor towards the window, she continued,
in a lower tone, " Dey tell me dey treat me
like de famille. Bon ! I believe dem. But
dey treat me like de chien, et je me venge; I
am de renard ! Why not Madame la Comtesse
sometime speak me herself? Why send de
impertinent femme de chambre give orders ?
I obey de femme-de-chambre ! Non, non,
jamais; mes eleves s'amusent, je m'amuse
aussi !"

Annie Sherwood, with all her faults, had
a grave sense of duty, and of fal filling duty
for conscience' sake ; even without that prin-
ciple she would have gone through her tasks
with exactitude, for she was too proud to
deceive. The philosophy of Mademoiselle
Clairvault shocked our heroine; she attempted
to remonstrate with her, but she found her

28 ANNE SHERWOOD.

convictions too stubbornly seated to be
moved. Clarisse Clairvanlt was naturally
good-tempered, and even amiable ; but, hav-
ing no fixed principles, would be bent by
circumstances. Had she been placed with
Mrs. Harrington, all that was kindly in her
nature would have been brought forth, and a
disgraceful neglect of duty would never have
been practised. As it was, the serfdom of the

Countess of 's family had made her —

lohat the slave usually is — cunning anddeceiiful.

In return for the good advice Annie had
given Mademoiselle Clairvanlt, she was
laughed at, and told that she would soon
learn to return " measure for measure !" And
that unprincipled woman spoke truly. As
the system of " governessing" now exists in
English families (with some honourable ex-
ceptions), the fate of the dependent is to
become hardened by oppression or broken-
hearted— unless, indeed, high and holy faith
has been her guide, preserving her alike from
temptation or despair.

Mothers should beware of the evils they
create for themselves and for their children
by their false estimate of the really impor-
tant position and office of the governess.
Mothers of England ! would you ensure a

ANNE SHERWOOD. 29

faithful discharge of duty from her to whom
the training of your children is confided,
while you are following the idol fashion or
the pageant of amusement, degrade her not
beneath the level of your menials ; show her
at least courtesy, if you have no heart for kind-
lier feelings, that your children may profit
by the instructions of one, whom you do
not teach them by your example to despise.
When Annie returned to Mrs. Maberly's,
she found a letter from Ellen awaiting her.
Her pupils were absent ; their mamma had
taken them out to see something. An hour or
two of freedom remained to her, during which
she might read and reread the lines traced by
her dearly-loved sister. But, as Annie read,
the blood rushed into her face, and her tem-
ples throbbed as though they would burst.

" Dearest Annie, — I am not very well,
and fear that my strength is not sufiicient for
this situation, and yet my duties are light.
I should not (even feeling as I do) resign

my office, but Mr. told me last night

that his wife had requested him to speak to
me, and say that they did not consider my
health and spirits sufficiently good for my
position, and therefore wished me to leave.

30 ANNE SHERWOOD.

You must not think from this that they have
been unkind to me, for indeed, indeed they
have not.

" Mr. is a most self-denying Chris-
tian, who spends his life and nearly all his
fortune in doing good ; he is as near perfec-
tion as humanity can be. My dear children
(for inexpressibly dear they are to me) are
all that I could wish, and it will indeed cost
me much to leave them.

" You must not, my dear, kind sister, be
uneasy about me ; I think I know exactly
what is the matter with me : I am very
weak, have a pain in my side and a little
cough — remember, not a bad one — and I have
become rather nervous. I am afraid I have
not prayed as much as I ought for resigna-
tion to Heaven's will ; I mean with regard to
poor Eichard's loss, for dead I am sure he
is. Perhaps he has been too much in my
thoughts ; and the solitude of this house,
which no one ever enters, the constant silence
that prevails in it (you might hear a pin
drop), has preyed on my spirits, I must own.

" Poor Mrs. is a great invalid. There

is nothing liaughty or disagreeable about
her, but she has fallen into invalidish habits.
No doubt she was very different before her

ANNE SHERWOOD. 31

illness. She is querulous and peevish; one
would almost say selfish, if she did not
suffer so much. She cannot bear the least
sound, and if a Look falls accidentally, she
sends up-stairs to inquire what the noise is,
and to request more care. Sometimes on
these occasions she comes up herself, and
looks so red and vexed. On this account
I hve in constant trepidation lest the chil-
dren should forget to tread softly; and though
they are good, dear children, they sometimes
forget themselves, and, being carried away
with their spirits, skip across the room. The
result always is, that I have to listen to a
long expostulation, though I am very careful
to keep them as quiet as I can. Don't think

ill of Mrs. for this. I am sure she means

to be kind, though circumstances have made
her temper trying.

" But, to return to myself. I shall be in
London in three weeks. What a kind Pro-
vidence has led you there before me ! I wish
very much, till I find another engagement,

to be at our old lodgings in IST Street.

I love that house from association. I look
so much older than I did, that my living
alone wiU. not seem strange. Besides, you
will be near me ; and before you leave Lon-

6Z ANNE SHERWOOD.

don again, I dare say I shall be in another
family. How strange that you should meet
Sophia Ferrers at Mrs. Harrington's !

"I often think about the Ferrers, and
wonder whether my fancy did not exaggerate
their faults. Perhaps appearances sometimes
deceived them about me ; they may now be
really sorry for their unkindness. It is so
much pleasanter and happier for one's self
to think as well of people as we can. I am
glad I left them, though ; for I fear that if I
had remained at Elmgrove, I should have
become quite wicked !

" How pleasant to hear of dear old Mer-
ton ! and how thankful I am for Bertha's
happiness ! Oh, dear Annie, it seems an age
since we met ! I feel better already at the
mere thought of going to you ; to-night I
shall not lie awake coughing. Grod give you
the best blessings, my own dear sister !

" Your affectionate Ellen."

Interpreting Ellen's letter as her fears
suggested, Annie trembled with apprehension,
and almost expected to find her poor sister
in the last stage of consumption on her
arrival. The three weeks which Ellen had
mentioned seemed interminable.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 33

And yet at the last moment, when they
were about to meet, Annie's courage failed
her ; and as she stood on the platform at the
railway- station to receive her sister, after the
first eager look at the train as it entered, she
covered her face with her hands, fearing to
see the change she anticipated. But she had
not stood there long, when some one eagerly
caught her arm ; she uttered one hurried ex-
clamation, and despite the proprieties of
public life, clasped Ellen in her arms, pale,
faded as a crushed lily, but with eyes of un-
natural brightness, which showed consuming
fever. " My Ellen ! my poor, poor Ellen !"
sobbed Annie.

" Don't pity me," said Ellen, faintly smil-
ing ; " I am so much better than I have been.
But I must go, and claim my luggage." As
she spoke, Ellen w^alked quickly along the
platform, drawing Annie wdth her. Presently
she dropped her handkerchief ; Annie stooped
to pick it up, and, in so doing, observed that
it was discoloured with spots of blood. She
looked at Ellen with inexpressible anguish.
" I am not so ill as you fancy," said Ellen ;
" you will see, dear, what a few weeks will do
for me I"

'* A few weeks !" Annie shuddered. *' A

VOL. II. D

34 ANNE SHERWOOD.

few weeks !" she repeated, clasping her hands,
and weeping. And no w^onder the poor
governess wept at the prospect of travelling
on life's weary journey alone — quite alone !

Annie led her sister with tender care to
the humble dwelling in which they had to-
gether passed so many trying months ; there,
divesting her of her heavy outer garments,
she made Ellen lie down on the sofa, while
she prepared tea for her. " How strangely
this is like the scene of long ago !" said
Ellen. "Just so, Annie, the first day we
spent in this house you made me lie down,
while you took all the fatigue. How you
used to spoil me — how you spoil me still !
just as if I were a child, though I am sure
I do not seem at all younger than you."

Ellen was indeed altered, and looked
several years beyond her real age. Her
figure was attenuated, and her sweet face, no
longer shaded by a shower of golden curls,
looked thin and drawn.

" Why don't you c\irl your hair, darling ?"
asked Annie.

"I left off wearing curls, you know, dear,
to please Mrs. Ferrers, and I supposed they
would be equally objected to elsewhere. Be-
sides, I have not cared to curl my hair since

ANNE SHERWOOD. 35

" And poor Ellen's voice was here broken

with sobs, which she vainly struggled to sup-
press, and in the shelter of her fond sister's
arms she gave free course to her tears.

Then Annie drew from her the truth, that
the poor girl's health and spirits had been
shattered at least as much, by the wearing

ill-temper of Mrs. , as by grief for her

lover's loss.

" And this is religion [" said Annie,
bitterly.

" Eeligion ! Oh, no, dear Annie !" said
EUen, in a voice of deep sorrow ; " this is
corrupt human nature — religion is all gentle-
ness and peace ! I wish, you could have
known poor Eichard : he would have taught
you true Christianity. How you would have
loved him, if you had met ! But you will
meet some day, for life is short, and we shall
spend an eternity of happiness together.
Eternity, ' that day of never-ending peace I'
as Thomas a Kempis calls it."

Annie made no reply. She could not enter
into her sister's beautiful and inspiring hopes.
She was weary of earth and earth's trials ;
but a veil was spread between her and
heaven — the veil that unsubdued passions
hang before the high and holy.
D 2

36 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Annie busied herself in preparing for her
sister's comfort, till she had induced her to
take the refreshment she so much needed.

She then soothed her to sleep, and, slip-
ping out, went in quest of a physician. Dr.
Sinclair, who, though in extensive practice,
never affected to be busy when he was not,
and never kept even a poor patient waiting
in order to enhance his own importance. The
Doctor was considered very clever, but odd
and eccentric.

A¥lien Annie returned, accompanied by
the Doctor, Ellen was still sleeping, but her
dreams were bright and happy, as her coun-
tenance showed.

"A sweet young creature !" said the Doctor.
He was only speaking for his own informa-
tion; but he had said enough to convince
Annie that he was a very clever man, though
what proof he gave of cleverness, in admir-
ing our heroine's sister, w^e must leave the
reader to discover.

The old Doctor sat down patiently to await
his patient's waking, and in the meanwhile
examined her state as well as he could, and
questioned her sister of her occupations and
habits. Annie eagerly told him all she
knew. There was something in the clever old

ANNE SHERWOOD. 37

Scotchman which, immediately won her con-
fidence, so she spoke without any reserve,
and the Doctor listened with evident interest,
not only to the detail of Ellen's late painful
position and trials, but also to the praises of
her excellence. It never occurred to Annie
to suppose that anything she could say of
her sister, would sound ridiculous or exagge-
rated, so simple was her faith in the fact of
Ellen's being the sweetest and most faultless
being in creation.

The Doctor listened till quite the end of
a very long story, and then fell into a
reverie. He was an absent man, and had a
habit of expressing his sentiments and
opinions pretty freely to himself; but it
generally happened that his remarks were
made so loudly as to benefit every other
person present.

Dr. Sinclair was old, his locks were thin
and grey, his face deeply lined with thought,
perhaps with cares past, though he was now
prosperous in the world.

He sat beside the sick girl's couch, hold-
ing her delicate wrist in his hand. " Bad
case," he muttered, " very bad ;" and Annie
stood by, clasping her hands in silent misery,

" Governess again ! fourth this week 1

SS ANNE SHERWOOD.

Better call me in to an omnibus horse at
once, or a needle- woman ! Ah ! Mr. Hood,
your * Song of the Shirt ' was a fine thing —
a very fine thing ! Pity you hadn't made
the song of the grammar and geography !
Sweet creature ! But she must go, though !
she must gol"

" Oh, sir ! is there no hope ?" gasped
Annie.

" Who told you there wasn't ?" said the
Doctor, roughly. " I didn't ! No, no ; she
shan't die !" Then relapsing into absence,
he muttered in the old style, " Ha ! that's
what Uncle Toby said of the Lieutenant !
but he did die, for all that !"

" Oh, sir ! what do you say ?" exclaimed
the half-frantic Annie.

" What did I say ? I said you must be
careful, and she must do no more governess-
ing ; better send her into a coal-pit at once
to work. She must go and board in some
cheerful family — say a medical man's, who
can watch her state, as it varies. It wont
cost you much — not above a hundred a
year."

" A hundred a year !" repeated Annie, in
despair.

" What am I talking about ?" cried the

ANNE SHERWOOD. 39

Doctor, witli a start of recollection ; " you'll
get it for far less than that. What conld.
you afford to give ?''

'' Thirty-five pounds a year," said Annie^
dejectedly, naming the whole of her salary,
as she boasted no accomplishments ; and for
far less than that many a superior woman
barters acquirements solid and ornamental.

" Humph 1" said the Doctor ; " you say
you're in place. In — in a situation, I
mean r'

''Yes."

" And I dare say you don't earn much
more than the sum you name ?"

" No more than that ; I cannot teach the
things others can. But do you think,
sir

" Do I think ? No ; I'm sure I can find
some one vv^ho'll take you — take her, I mean
— for less. I'll see about it to-morrow.
But see, she is waking 1"

Ellen opened her innocent eyes with so
bright a smile, that she did not look half so
ill as before. " Oh, Annie !" she exclaimed,
not seeing the Doctor, " I have had such a
blessed dream of poor Eichard 1"

"Humph!" ejaculated the old Doctor j
" Coeur de Lion, I suppose ! Well, perhaps

40 ANNE SHERWOOD.

it's not all grammars and geographies, after

aur

" Ellen, darling," said Annie, very gently,
" I have brought some one to see you."

" To see me ?"

"Yes, dearest ; a kind Doctor, who will
prescribe something to make yon stronger."

" But I don't want anything, now I am
with you, Annie ! I am already well."

''Still, to make me happy, you will let
the Doctor see what is the matter with
you!

The Doctor then commenced his exami-
nation— asked the patient a number of ques-
tions, and, as he pursued his inquiries, his
countenance brightened up. 'Not less
brightened Annie's ; for she had been read-
ing his face, as though to find her sen-
tence of life or death therein. At length
he took leave, promising to return on the
morrow. Annie tendered him his fee. He
pushed it back, saying, "No, no; I like
money like rhubarb — in the mass. Send
you in a bill some day. Good-night ! Gret
her to bed, and prepare to move to-morrow."

" To-morrow ! — to move to-morrow 1" said
Ellen, in no little astonishment.

" Yes. I've been teUing your sister where

ANNE SHERWOOD. 41

you can get much cheaper lodgings/' said
the Doctor.

" Oh, I am glad 1" said EUen ; " my ill-
ness will be such an expense !"

" Your illness ! I don't mean you to have
one !" said the Doctor, with a merry laugh,
that almost reassured Annie. " Grood-night 1"
repeated he ; adding audibly, " Very nice
girls, and one of them very pretty ! Gover-
nessing, indeed 1 Better take in washing
and ironing ! Poor things ! poor things !
Four governesses this week ! Yery strange !
What nonsense I'm talking ! not strange at
all ! not the least strange ! Grammars and
geographies and arithmetic books, and non-
sensical ologies ! I wish Colenso and a few
of those fellows were hanged, that I do !
Drugs ! what's the use of drugs to a drudge ?
* Throw physic to the dogs 1' The physic
she wants is rest and quiet." By this time
the Doctor had reached the door, and the
rest of his observations were no doubt de-
livered to the cushions of his brougham.

42 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE lY.

The following day Annie asked for and
obtained a half-holiday (on such points Mrs.
Maberly was particularly indulgent), and
so grateful did she feel for the readiness
with which her request was granted, that
she was ready to forget everything disagree-
able that had occurred in the family.

" How kind in Mrs. Maberly to let you
come to me !" said Ellen.

" Oh, yes," responded Annie, warmly,
" she has such a kind heart !" The back
stairs and other similar matters were en-
tirely forgotten. At three in the afternoon
Dr. Sinclair's carriage stopped before the
little door of Ellen's lodging, and the Doctor
hurried in, very busily talking to himself.

"Well, I've bargained for you wdtli a
young practitioner and his wife, Miss
Helena," said he, in his rough but kind
voice, after finishing the conversation he had
been holding with himself. " Not much
luggage, eh ? Those two trunks and a band-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 48

box? Women must have their head gear.
Well, easily managed — very. Big box — Par-
cels Dehv. ; little one go on coach-box ;
bonnet affair under seat, eh? Nice plan
altogether. Miss Sherwood. Only 25/. a year;
moderate, isn't it? Hammersmith — nice airy
place. Ever been at Hammersmith ?"

'' 'No, sir, we have never been there," said
Annie, who somehovv found herself im-
pHcitly following the directions of a stranger,
without inquiry, and with blind confidence.

" Put on your bonnet. Miss Helena ; and
you'll come too, of course. Miss Sherwood,
to see she's safely lodged, and that I don't
burke her. But you don't know anything
about burking ; it was before your time.
Here, Thomas," continued the Doctor, bust-
ling to the door ; " got a piece of twine in
your pocket ?"

'' Yes, sir."

" Well, give it to me. There, take that
bonnet trap, band-box, or whatever it's
called, and the little black trunk, and put
them up."

" Where, sir ?"

" Where, sir ! Use your sense ! Wherever
they'll fit in. Ofi" with you !"

" They'd be rum 'uns that didn't do mas^

44 ANNE SHERWOOD.

ter's bidding/' muttered the man. " What
a way lie has got with him !"

The Doctor then hurried to the table,
snatched up a pen, and wrote something on
a card, which he tied on the remaining
trunk. He handed the sisters into his car-
riage, and turning back, pointed to the large
trunk, saying, " Parcels Deliv." Then he
appeared to shake hands with the landlady ;
she dropt the lowest of all possible low
curtsies, and hoped that the Doctor would
recommend her lodgings.

" I will, I will," he replied; adding, " when
your parlour grows big enough for a pair of
lungs to breathe in !"

Neither Annie nor Ellen asked a single
question. They felt instinctively that none
was needed ; and how pleasant it was to have
some one to guide and direct them — they were
so accustomed to stand alone and uncared-
for ! And Annie sat quite contentedly, hold-
ing her sister's hand ; and if there was a little
anxiety in her heart, it was more than coun-
terbalanced by hope. When the Doctor
asked her bluntly if the people she was with
" treated her decently," her answer taking
its tone from the favour recently granted to
her, she answered, freely—

ANNE SHERWOOD. 45

" Yery well ; Mrs. Maberly is very kind."

"And liberal?"

" Oh, yes, extremely liberal."

" Not at all haughty or purse-proud, I
suppose ?"

Here poor Annie's countenance fell, and
she made no reply in words. Dr. Sinclair
put his head out of the window —

" Slower, Thomas, slower ; give us time
to see the scenery, and to hear the rich
sounds of nature !"

" What ! wont you buy twelve iron sJdvers
for a penny ?" was the first sound that met
the ears of the party in the good Doctor's
carriage; and the novelty of the strongly-
marked and expostulatory tone in which the
vendor of skewers cried his wares, so particu-
larly struck the Doctor's fancy, that he called
the ragged itinerant to the carriage window.

" There, you clever rogue ; a shilling's
worth !" cried Dr. Sinclair, " Don't cheat
me ; twelve twelves are a hundred and forty-
four ; d'ye hear ? There, tell them out
quickly; hand them up to the coachman.
Pray who taught you that cry ?"

" My own invention, sir," said the lad,
proudly ; " and I make bold to say it's the
newest cry about town."

46 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" You like this vagabond sort of life ?"

" Well, sir, I've seen many of life's
wicissitoodinons changes ; but taking it all to-
gether, I calls all parts pleasant, just as they
comes."

"I dare say you do. Hark ye, fellow: call at

No. — , Street, to-morrow, if you'd like

another of life's ' wicissitoodinons' changes,
but don't steal any forks or spoons ; d'ye
hear ? Drive on, Tliomas !" And Thomas
drove on, wdiile the skewer- vendor grinned,
and repeated yet louder, and more argumen-
tatively than ever, " Wliat ! wont you buy
twelve iron sJcivers for a penny ?"

" I've made a bargain," said the Doctor,
turning to Annie. " My housekeeper boasts
of her bargains ; but I often carry her home
something that astonishes her. I w^onder
what she'll say to 144 skewers for a shilling !
enough to last her ten years ! London's the
place for bargains ! Clever rogue, that — very
clever. I like his eyes — fuU of fun and
spirit !" and while the Doctor spoke, his ow^n
eyes rolled with a merry twinkle. '' Some
runaway jail-bird, no doubt ; but I dare say
I shall make something of him, unless he
robs me and cuts my throat 1"

" Sm-ely, sir, you are not thinking of

ANNE SHERWOOD. 47

taking him into jour family !" exclaimed
Annie.

" Thinking abont it !" said the Doctor.
" Dear me, no ! I quite made np my mind
while I w^as paying the fellow. I shall get
him cheap, and besides, shall have a rich
bargain of drollery in him. What a capital
Lancelot Gobbo he'd make ! Who knows
but that in the course of life's luicissitoodinoiis
changes he may one day tread the boards.
How do you feel now, Miss Helena?" added
the Doctor (and when he spoke to Ellen he
always softened his voice). " Wliat nonsense
to ask ! how should she feel but blithe and
well, now the grammars and geographies are
shut up !"

The drive w^as long — for Dr. Sinclair had
made his man move slowly, that the motion
of the carriage might not affect his patient —
still it was pleasant. He had an inexhaust-
ible fund of drollery, but so tempered that
it kept up his listeners' spirits and attention,
without producing violent mirth. At length
they arrived at a neat house, standing in
small but beautiful grounds, near Hammer-
smith. "Humph!" said the Doctor; "this
is the sort of thing they call villa. I wonder
what the word means ? One sees all sorts of

48 ANNE SHERWOOD.

whirligig houses that they call villas. I shall
expect to find one of them stuck in the middle
of Fleet Street some day. Mr. Ellington at
home ? Out, is he ! Nonsense, don't I
know better ! Tell him Dr. Sinclair and his
friend Miss Sherwood." And without a
moment's pause he led the sisters to the
drawing-room, and introduced Ellen as the
young friend for whom he had been com-
missioned to negotiate. He then proceeded
to give several directions which he wished
followed, winding up with " Eemember,
Ellington's not to drug her ; she's my patient,
and if she's to be poisoned, I shall keep all
the dosing to myself I think I told you
Miss Sherwood would like to spend the rest
of the day with her sister. Perhaps you'll
be so good as to let my fellow put up what
The Beaiis Stratagem calls my ' leathern con-
veniency ;' it is to wait to bring Miss Sher-
wood back to town."

" But how can I keep it when you have to
return yourself, sir?" asked Annie, anxiously.

" Oh, I shall travel by omnibus ; often do ;
like it best. One hears and sees such droll
things in the omnibus. There's always the
fat man that takes up the room of three ;
always the woman with the big bundle

ANNE SHERWOOD. 49

liugged up to her like a baby, and the bigger
basket that she sets on her neighbour's toes.
There's always the mother with a baby that
you are assured is as good as goold, but
that will squall all the way. Then tliere's
the dandy clerk coming home from his office,
or bank, who wears mosaic gold rings and
paste, and runs his fingers through his
macassared hair to show the said mosaic and
paste. Then there's the young lady opposite
to him, with seven flounces that will get
rumpled, and the bonnet that wont keep on.
There's the impatient gentleman, that swears
at the conductor, because he stops to take up
anybody but himself. There's the child
that's thrust in like a foundling, and stands
up right in the middle (till the fat woman
that's nursing the bundle, makes room for
him on the other knee), and stares round
bewildered, and wonders if he is really a boy,
or a parcel, or a hamper, that he's shipped
off that way, by an undutiful aunt ! There's
no end to the fun in an omnibus ; and in my
opinion, there's not a word in the English
language to be compared to fun. It's the
prince of words — should be written in capitals !
printed in gold 1 I know your husband's at'
home, though your lying fellow pretended

VOL. II. E

50 ANNE SHERWOOD.

he wasn't ; but no matter, for I can t stop.
Good-bye, Miss Helena, good-bye. Mrs.
Ellington, how many iron skewers do you
think I bought for a shilling to-day ?"
" I really don't know, Doctor."
" 144 ! Don't I know how to make a bar-
gain ? And the fellow I bought them from,
had the drollest cry in the world. Good-
bye, Miss Sherwood." And giving his last
word and look to Annie, he hurried away.

" The most excellent man in the world !"
said Mrs. Ellington.

" He seems so, indeed," said Annie.

" Have you known him long ?" asked

Mrs. E .

" Long !" repeated Annie ; " I saw Dr.
Sinclair for the first time yesterday !"

"Is it possible ? But what an extraordi-
nary interest he takes in you ! Yet I need
not be surprised, for this is his way. But
come, Miss Sherwood, I will show^ you your
room. The Doctor says that you are to lie on
the sofa, read entertaining books, and be
regularly suppHed with Fundi ! " Mr. Elling-
ton is in his consulting room ; he will come
and see you presently when you are rested.
He is not to prescribe for you at all, you
know, but to forward a frequent statement

ANNE SHERWOOD. 51

of your case to tlie Doctor, who says lie
shall come over often. He tells me we are
to expect the pleasure of your company for a
year/'

" A year !" repeated Ellen, as she looked
round with startled wonder at the elegant
dressing-room into which Mrs. Ellington led
her, and marvelled what the Doctor's pro-
mise of cheapness meant. " I am afraid this

home will be beyond our means," she

would have said, but that her voice was
choked by nervous tears. Annie, too, looked
grave and disquieted; and Mrs. Ellington,
who was an amiable woman, hastened to
relieve her uneasiness, the nature of wliich
she well understood. " I hope your sister
will be happy and comfortable with us,"
she said. "Dr. Sinclair spoke of you as
very particular friends (I ought to have
remembered that, though his friendships are
enduring, they often spring up in a day), and
as such, begged us to name the lowest terms
we could receive. I hope what we have asked
is not beyond what you intended giving."

" I think — I fear," said Ellen, hesitatingly,
'' that we misunderstood Dr. Sinclair . The
sum he mentioned seems quite out of the
question."

E 2

52 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" If it frightens you/' said Mrs. Ellington,
" we can, I dare say, make a trifling abate-
ment/'

" Abatement !" said Annie ; "we slionld
be mad to expect it. I was going to say I
would willingly add 1 5/. more, only tbat would
still be too little !" she added, dejectedly.
" I am afraid v/hat the Doctor said was quite
a mistake !"

" What sum did he name ?" asked Mrs.
Ellington.

"Eeally, I feel ashamed to tell you, it
seems so ridiculously small. I thought Dr.
Sinclair was leading us to some humble
dwelling, where the most we could expect
would be pure air and cleanliness ! He said
Ellen could be boarded for 25/. a-year."

" That was the sum we agreed to receive
from you."

" Impossible !"

"Yet it is quite tme," replied Mrs.
Ellington. " We could not take one inmate
on such terms ; but we have several, so that
we can manage better. We shall be per-
fectly satisfied." Mrs. Ellington did not add
that Dr. Sinclair had promised to make uj)
the deficiency ; that they were to receive
125/. from the benevolent old man, in addi-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 53

tion to Annie's 25/. ! And for once in lier
life Annie was taken in — as thoroughly
taken in as simple-minded, innocent Ellen —
and though all still seemed a wonder to her,
as she looked round the room, with its
luxurious couches, its soft carpets, its air of
cheerful comfort, she suspected nothing of
the charitable deception practised on her.
Still, she was as full of gratitude to the kind
Doctor as if she had known the extent of her
obligation.

After a number of minute cares for her
dear Ellen — such as putting away the loose
articles she had brought with her, unpack-
ing her boxes, arranging her few books, her
desk and work-box, &c. — Annie returned to
town with a lighter heart than she had felt
for a long time, and much more faith in
human nature.

She arrived late, but there w^as no one to
question her ; so passing hastily up the stairs,
she threw off her bonnet and shawl, and
went to look at the sleeping children. She
seemed to love all so much better to-night,
and she stooped and kissed them fondly,
even the rebel Greraldine. "Her day had
been so happy 1" she mentally repeated ; " so
very happy ! and, but for Mrs. Maberly's

54 ANNE SHERWOOD.

kindness in sparing her, she might have lost
half its pleasure T Yes, Annie's heart was
full of love and thankfulness. That night a
little thing called forth her gratitude; and
to crown her contentment, on her table lay
a letter from Antonia — the angel that ap-
peared to Abou Ben Adhem was not more
welcome.

55

CHAPTEE y.

Antonia's letter was a pleasant one —
pleasant her letters always were ; she was so
affectionate, so unworldly. She informed
Annie that she hoped to see her in a very
short time, as her sister Mrs. Maberly had
given her a very kind invitation to spend
some weeks in town. "Ahl" thought
Annie, " can sisters wait for the ceremony of
kind invitations to see each other ? Is this
what people of the world call affection?
But Antonia is not of the world ; oh, no !
she is not, or I should never love her as I
do, next best to my darling Ellen. Nor
Mrs. Maberly is not worldly — surely not ;
after all her kindness in letting me see Ellen,
I must not think harslily of her. I will try
hard to be more patient with those dear,
spoiled children ; I will try very hard indeed.
Wliile I can keep this situation, Ellen can
live in that delightful home, and slave no
more ; that is such a happy thought ! Keep
it 1 yes, if it were like poor Julie's, I would

56 ANNE SHERWOOD.

try to keep it for dear Ellen's sake. I onglit
to be thankful, instead of murmuring, and
I will strive to be more and more so. True,
Greraldine did knock me do^vn, but it was in
a moment of excited passion. I dare say
she was sorry for it afterwards. I shall
certainly try to stay ! And Antonia too,
dear Antonia ; she would not like me to
leave her sister; our correspondence might
be interrupted if I left ! No, no ; I am
wrong ! Antonia is too true-hearted to give
me up, whatever happened !" Thus mentally
soliloquizing, Annie spent two or three
hours, during which she was too much
excited, and too happy to sleep. Ah, it is
seldom a governess is too happy to sleep !
very seldom! Certainly there appeared a
bright day dawning on Annie Sherwood's Hfe;
whether its sun would go down in darkness she
knew not, but she resigned herself to sleep
and pleasant dreams. Yes, her dreams were
pleasant ! There came back to her the sweet
vision she had had long ago. She saw her
sister the happy wife of a man who was
leading her gently onward through a peace-
ful, pleasant path, to the high and holy
in eternity. And, as Annie Sherwood
slumbered and dreamt in the calm moon-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 57

light, lier face became beautiful with the
radiance of hope and happiness. She arose
in the morning with renovated life, full of
faith and trust in heaven and man. She
thought that she had passed a turning point
in her life ; that henceforth her way was to
be plain and straight. There might be
thorns in her path ; but she would tread so
as to avoid them, or she would blunt their
sting. All would be peace and contentment.
In the course of the day several little
things occurred to ruffle Annie; she reso-
lutely refused to see them. Time went by —
some days, then some wrecks — her grievances
increased ; she tried to turn her head away,
but they crept on — surrounded her as an
atmosphere — stared her in the facie. Her
patience failed ; the worn, wearied body and
mind feebly strove to bear up against the
irritation of the spirit. It was in vain. Old
scenes recurred. Poor Annie almost ceased
to struggle. Her proud spirit was trampled
on. She was insulted ; she saw herself fast
merging into the menial. Often she com-
pressed her white lips to keep in the ex-
pression of indignation tumultuously rising
from within; for she remembered Ellen —
remembered that the money she earned was

58 ANNE SHERWOOD.

necessary to Ellen's very life. Had she
stood alone in the world, she would have
rushed forth, and have braved the pitiless
storm in the streets, rather than have re-
mained beneath the shelter of the proud rich
man's roof.

Annie thought of Ellen, and paused ; she
thought of something else too, — that to
supply Ellen's wants she had humiliated
herself to ask and receive some of her money
in advance. She had moreover added to
that necessary evil by too generously obtain-
ing a second advance, to lend a mere
acquaintance, who had no claim on her but
real or pretended distress.

Mrs. Maberly did not feel the incon-
venience of advancing a (to her) small sum
of money, and she was naturally hberal ; but
she could, and did let the poor governess
who had incurred the obhgation feel its
pressure most heavily.

When matters were about at their worst —
at that particular point which is usually con-
sidered a turning one, and the precursor of
improvement — Annie heard that Antonia
would arrive in a few, a very few days. Her
letters had been fewer between, shorter, and
colder lately. Annie had been hurt thereby,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 59

but it now seemed all accounted for. Antonia
had been busy making preparations for town;
but when she came — when their old, delight-
ful intimacy was renew^ed, they could talk
freely in their walks, and in the evenings,
many of which Antonia would certainly
spend with her, as she had done in the
country.

Annie was very much like a sentimental
girl expecting her lover's visit after a long
absence ; she not only counted the days, but
even the hours, till the arrival of Antonia.
How she listened for wheels ! — then sighed
with disappointment, remembering how
foolish it was to expect, among the number
of carriages that rolled through the street in
a day, to be able to recognise that which
would bring her beloved friend. Truly, Annie
Sherwood's friendship had all the warmth
of love, unalloyed by love's selfishness.

Annie was standing just within the door
of her room, her eyes glistening, and her
whole countenance irradiated with pleasure.
She heard Antonia's voice in the hall ; she
would have known it among a thousand — it
seemed so long though since she had heard
it before ! What a pleasant voice it was too !
so frank ! so fall of heart ! A little too loud.

60 ANNE SHERWOOD.

perhaps, for the fashionable world — still not
nnmnsical.

Annie wanted to rush out and throw her
arms round Antonia, but she well knew
that there would be some sneering at a senti-
mental scene with the governess ; so she put
a great restraint on herself, and waited— she
knew so well that Antonia's warm heart
would lead her to her friend the moment she
had seen her relatives, who might justly
claim the first greeting.

Annie stood waiting near the door half
an hour ; she heard Antonia walk up-stairs,
accompanied by her sister. Of course,
Antonia could not immediately break ofi" her
conversation with Mrs. Maberly, but she
Avould come soon. Annie felt a little sad to
think that she might not without incurring
ridicule, perhaps even reproof, go forth and
greet her friend as her heart dictated ; but
then she was sure that the affectionate girl
felt just as she did. She w^aited still ; the
children did not come for their lessons at all
that afternoon ; lately they had acquired the
habit of taking a holiday whenever they
chose. At tea-time they began to straggle
in ; it was an unknown tiling for the
Maberly family to sit down at one time to a

ANXE SHERWOOD. 61

meal. Tlie cliildren said, "Aunt Antonia
is dressing for dinner."

"I have no wish to hear what Aunt
Antonia is doing/' said Annie, crossly. The
children looked at each other and laughed ;
it was " fun" to see the governess lose her
temper sometimes — " real fun," when she was
always telling them not to he cross. Greral-
dine (a quick, clever girl was Geraldine)
made a knowing speech about " precept and
example." The governess replied sharply,
and the consequence was, what the sailors
call a " breeze." " It is such prime fun to put
the governess in a rage ;" and " Miss Sher-
wood looked so delightfully ugly when she
cried." " If TJncle Hal would but come in !"
But tea passed over despite the little scene ;
rather a common occurrence was such an
episode. No Antonia appeared. The children
rushed off like so many hounds after scent.
The first dinner-bell rang. Greraldine put her
head round the door of the school-room,
looking very merry. " I dare say she'll come
and see you by-and-by. Miss Sherwood !"

Geraldine meant to be kind ; she forgot
the late misunderstanding — forgot that
not long before she had knocked her
governess down, for venturing to interfere

62 ANNE SHERWOOD.

when she kicked her sister; and now Qeral-
dine thought Annie was disappointed, and
that she would say something to comfort
her, for she w^as beginning to get a ghmmer-
ing notion of what "people's feelings" meant.

But Annie being so much more accus-
tomed to rude remarks than pleasant ones,
thought she was mocked, and as Geraldine
still lingered, instead of thanking her she
made some hasty answer. " How do you
do, Miss Sherwood?" said Antonia, entering,
and offering her hand. " I must hasten, for
the second dinner-bell is ringing."

Annie held the hand extended to her, and
looked up at her friend hastily ; but her
trembling lips could not frame a word, and
Antonia's hand dropped from hers. Miss
Oakley turned and left the room.

" And it is thus Antonia greets me !"
repeated Annie. " It is almost as if Ellen
herself had forsaken me ! Is this Antonia —
Antonia that I have loved so much? Eomantic
fool ! what right had I to expect stabihty
from an unequal friendship ? Why did I
not remember that Antonia was an indepen-
dent lady, and I the poor dependent gover-
ness, cut off from the sympathies of all,
unless I choose to accept those of the vulgar

ANNE SHERWOOD. 63

herd ?" A drop of gall was infused in Annie's
heart that day, which nothing ever expelled
again. Yet her judgment of her friend
might have been severe — probably it w^as so.
Very hkely Antonia still loved her, but she
was ashamed to show her affection. She
had learnt that the companion of the country
could not always, and with equal propriety,
be the companion of town life. She had
learnt that she would be laughed at, if sup-
posed to be on familiar terms wdth her sister's
governess ; and few people are so nobly
independent as to bear derision. So, though
it was perhaps rather painful at first, it was
best to begin as her position, not her incli-
nation, would obhge her to continue. No
doubt she was sorry, for Antonia was too
tender-hearted to inflict a pang on a human
being without sharing m it herself. But
one must yield to the world's opinions, and
she w^ould try "to make it up to Minnie
some other way."^

The evening of Antonia' s arrival was a
gloomy one to Annie. She wanted courage
even to think, and as she could do nothing
else worth doing, she began to scribble, and
produced the best sketch of a tale she had
ever before attempted. She was pleased and

64 ANNE SHERWOOD.

surprised at her own performance. Perhaps
it was the secret consciousness of her o\mi
talents which kept Annie from utter des-
pondency ; pride too came to her assistance.

" I will weep no more," she murmured ;
" henceforth I will only live for my dear,
unselfish sister. If Heaven takes her from
me, we shall die together. I have no other
tie in life — none other wdll I seek.''

Late that night, as Annie lay on her
sleepless bed, some one gently opened her
door, entered the room, and stood beside her.

" Minnie ! dear Minnie ! are you awake ?"
said the old loving voice.

" Aw^ake ?" repeated Annie.

" Yes, I want to say something to you.
You must have thought me strange to-day!"

" Not at aU, Miss Oakley."

" Oh, pray, don't speak to me in that dis-
tant way !"

" Wliat shaU I call you, then ?"

" Antonia, as you used to do in the old
pleasant times ; then I shall believe you un-
changed."

" You wish me to call you Antonia ! w^ell,
I wm."

" But I mean," began Antonia in a hesi-
tating voice ; "I mean when "

ANXE SHERVN'OOD. G5

'' When in private ?" suggested Annie.

" Yes, yes, exactly so, Minnie ; but how
strangely you talk to me !"

'' Do I ?"

" Yes," replied Antonia, melting into
tears, and stealing her arms round Annie's
neck. " You make me very unhappy, Min-
nie, and this is a foolish world."

Annie returned Antonia's caress, and
gently kissed her cheek. She understood
her now. Her friend had not forgotten
their past happy intercourse ; her friendship
was neither dead nor cold ; she only wished
it to seem so to the world, because she had
not courage to meet the world's opinion.

Annie was no longer angry ; she pitied the
weakness of Antonia's mind, and forgave
her ; but she could never again share with
her her inmost thoughts.

It was a cold night, intensely cold, but
Antonia seemed quite insensible of it ; she
threw herself down beside Annie, and
clasping her in her arms, renewed all her old
professions of affection and friendship. But
the old story did not sound now as once it
had sounded, and Antonia did not feel sure
in her heart that she would be believed,
though every word was sincerely meant.

VOL. II. F

(j6 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Certainly she then fully intended to be the
affectionate friend of the poor solitary go-
verness, whom she still pitied, stillj loved ;
only her friendsliip mnst be shown in pri-
vate— indeed, be kept as secret as a clandes-
tine love affair. For a long time the friends
conversed, but not as in other days. How
could they talk as they had done ? Confi-
dence no longer existed between them; it
was destroyed by the mean cowardice of
one.

" You must not stay in the cold, Antonia,"
said Annie, trying to warm her friend's hands
between her own.

" But I have so much to say, dear
Minnie !"

"Never mind; say it to-morrow. We
shall have, plenty of time. You will go out
with us ?"

" Well, dear, I'm afraid I can't. I shall
be obliged to go with my sister."

" Of course she has the first claim on you,"
said Annie. " I ought to have thought of
that. But you'll come into the school-room
some time in the evening, I dare say ?"

" If I can manage it any way," said An-
tonia, hesitatingly.

" You can bring your work with you, you

ANNE SHERWOOD. 67

know," said Annie, " if you have any pet
crocliet, or other "

" Not exactly that," said Antonia. " But,
Minnie "

" I suppose we are to have stolen inter-
views, like clandestine lovers !" said Annie,
rather sharply.

"Dear me, what odd things you say!"
said Antonia, not liking to make any direct
answer.

Annie said nothing in reply. She listened
patiently to Antonia's sayings, and offered no
comment on them. At length Antonia retired
to her own room, after again affectionately
embracing her friend. Annie loved Antonia
too much to feel any resentment towards
her, but she felt as if a star (and a very
bright one) had been put out in her sky,
and as if she could never trust nor love

E 2

68 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE VI.

Her dream of romantic friendship tlins
rudely dispersed, Annie Sherwood clung
more than ever to her sister. In Ellen she
could meet w^ith no disappointment ; from
Ellen the world could never separate her.

Under the care of the Ellingtons, and the
constant supervision of the benevolent Dr.
Sinclair, Ellen w^as rapidly improving ; and
if a little shade of sadness now and then
clouded her fair face, it arose from the re-
membrance of her lover's uncertain fate, and
the contemplation of Annie's toils and lonely
existence. As soon as she found her strength
returning, she was anxious to seek employ-
ment ; but the bare possibility of her sister's
going back to governess life, made Annie so
wretched, that Ellen was obliged to put off
the evil day. It might have been observed,
that whenever Annie had been to spend a
few hours with Ellen, she returned more
patient and more humble. Not only did
she meekly bear her every-day school-room

ANNE SHERWOOD. 69

trials after those visits, but slie met with
silent endurance the increasing slights and
annoyances received from the family in
general; and that which was a thousand
times more painful, the growing estrange-
ment of Antonia. Yes, Annie bore much,
from the dread of losing the means of sup-
porting her sister in ease and comfort ; but,
unfortunately, she did not see Ellen very
often, to renew the impression in her mind
of how much depended on her self-denial ;
and when that strong incentive to for-
bearance was momentarily dormant, she
jdelded to the feelings of indignation and
resentment which her unfortunate position
inspired.

And daily the situation of the hapless
governess became more unbearable, nor had
she any one to whom she could confide her
sorrows. To Ellen it was impossible to un-
burden her overcharged mind ; she loved
her too much to relieve herself by imparting
to her the load she was called upon to bear.
Should she talk to Antonia ? Antonia, whom
she had loved so much, next best to EUen I
Antonia was now almost a stranger to her.

There are some things supposed to be
immortal, or at least, expected to be such.

70 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Foremost among these things stands the
patience of the tutor and the governess.
Not only must they barter for a small sti-
pend— sometimes a mere nominal remune-
ration— " the small accomplishments of a
Crichton," the wisdom of a Socrates, and the
elegance of a Sevigne ; but they must super-
add thereto the patience of an Isaac Newton.
And, alas ! poor Annie Sherw^ood had not
lately been in a school for the cultivation of
patience ; and one day, being irritated rather
beyond even a governess's powers of en-
durance, she actually Avrote a note to give
warning to Mrs. Maberly !

But the governess was, after all, but a
poor, weak woman, and had overmuch of
woman's heart ; and while she was sealing
her note, her eye accidentally fell on some
toys scattered about the floor; and some
way those little bits of wood and tin spoke
to her of a golden-headed child, that was
wont to twine her soft arms round her neck,
and with words of endearment strive to
soothe her in sadness. And the thought of
relinquishing the world of love in that child's
heart made Annie pause, and finally made
her throw the letter in the fire. It would
be re-written when the first kick, or what

ANNE SHERWOOD. 71

she felt much more, the first sneer, should
inspire her with fresh determination for the
task.

Yes, the letter was burnt, and the gover-
ness crept softly into the nursery to kiss
the little sleeper, whose love more effectually
bound on her galling chains, than her own
poverty. Not many days later, however,
the warning was again written, and given
into Mrs. Maberly's own aristocratic hands,
with fearful temerity. Her governess want
to leave her! Iter governess give her warning !
The thing was incredible ! Her governess,
who had been allowed so many privileges !
who had even, on two or tln-ee occasions, had
her salary most liberally advanced to her ! It
could not be! Mrs. Maberly's surprise was
only equalled by her indignation ; for if she
did not express this opinion in as many
words, she certainly thought that to " servo
her" in any capacity was such an honour
and happiness, that no person in their senses
could renounce a post in her family, without
the utmost ingratitude and folly.

Mrs. Maberly had but six weeks before
her in which to express her anger and in-
dignation; she made an excellent use of the
time, and the contumacious governess re-

72 ANNE SHERWOOD.

ceived sucli daily punishment for all offences,
past, present, and to come, that her existence
became so miserable as to create a doubt
whether purgatorial purgation were really so
fabulous as Luther, Calvin, Zwingle, Me-
lancthon, Knox, and a host of other worthies
opined it to be.

Mrs. Maberly, despite the habitual hauteur
engendered by her aristocratic pretensions,
had usually shown an easy temj)er ; and
Annie's surprise, wdien she heard and saw
the aristocratic lady fume and rage, equalled
the aristocratic lady's surprise at finding
that her governess was not afraid of her.

Poor Annie ! how she wished the last day
had come ; the last day of her sojourn under
that inhospitable roof ! How pleasant would
be the round, red face of the cabman who
would come to take her away from the
Maberlys ! To take her away ! but to
where ? to what ? To penury — want — star-
vation, perchance 1 "Where was the home
open to receive her? Where were the
friends who would supply her necessities ?
Who would not blame her for giving up a
comfortable home, shelter, and provision?
And giving up all this from a mere fantastic
delicacy; a morbid sensibility wdiich would

ANNE SHERWOOD. 73

not allow lier to become reconciled to an
occasional slight, or even an occasional kick !

Indeed, when Annie came to tliink it over,
she began to donbt whether she had not
been very foolish. Many governesses were
so mnch worse situated than she had been,
yet they bore it ; why cordd not she ? She
might find an exchange of employers any-
thing but an improvement ; perhaps she
would not get another engagement at all !
And then, poor, dear Ellen ! What was to
become of Ellen ? Annie taxed herself with
selfishness, and felt almost persuaded, fot
Ellen's sake, to humiliate herself for ever in
her own eyes, by seeking to conciliate Mrs.
Maberly, and revoking her warning. Day
after day she pondered the possibility of un-
doing what she had done ; but day after day
it became a more difiicult task. Meanwhile,
the apparent insensibility of Antonia cut her
to the heart ; but probably Annie misjudged
her former friend, who was afraid of her
sister, and only weak, not heartless.

The day approached for Annie's departure.
She wrote to Ellen, "I have ruined you
and myself!" Ellen replied, "Your letter,
dear Annie, has taken a load off my heart !
I thank God for the determination you have

74 ANNE SHERWOOD.

taken, again and again. You have always
been wretclied with those proud, unkind
people, who could neither enter into your
feelings, nor appreciate your talents ; but
how have you kept your miseries to yourself
till now ?

" Never mind, my own dear Annie, what
they say or do to you, you will soon be out
of their power. Torget that heartless An-
tonia, and see if your sister's love cannot
make amends to you for the loss of such a
hoUow friendship. Be comforted, my sister,
there are bright days in store for us yet.

" Oh, Annie, I have such good news to
teU you — such blessed news ! To-mon'ow,
then, you will leave your hard bondage.
Come straight here ; you are expected. The
dear old Doctor will be with us in the
evening, or perhaps, as early as you ; and
we shall talk merrily over 'life's wicissi-
toodinous changes.' You have no idea how
well ' AYliat ! - wont - you - buy - twelve - iron-
^X^'y^r^-for-a-penny ?' looks in livery !

" Your loving Ellen."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 75

CHAPTEE YII.

Annie left the Maberlys' door without one
word of farewell, or even an expression or
look of sympathy or kindness from Antonia;
and the remembrance of her friend's insensi-
bility haunted her through life.

To be deceived in friendship is worse than
to be deceived in love. Love wears wings,
and they indicate the possibility of flight ;
but sober friendship has no such attributes,
and we naturally expect from it a more en-
during existence.

To leave even the wayward among her
flock was a sore trial to Annie Sherw^ood;
but as she went forth from the inhospitable
mansion, she resolutely turned away her
face, lest her tears should be seen and de-
rided. Wlien once the coach-door was shut
on her, and the window drawn up, she gave
way to her feehngs, and drawing forth a
little golden curl, severed from the head of
her little comforter (while she had watched

76 ANNE SHERWOOD.

over lier in the weary hours of a painful
illness), she kissed it again and again.

But on, on must those go, who toil for
their daily existence. They have no time for
tears and regrets; no room for sentimental
sorrows. On ! on ! what have they to do
with the heart and the heart's affections?
Annie well knew all this, so she dried her
tears, resolutely dismissed the images of
those she had left behind her, the memory
of the love she had lost, the insults she had
escaped, and set to work to plan the ensuing
campaign in search of a fresh engagement.
The thought of wdiat lay before her was heart-
sickening, but it must be looked resolutely
in the face, and so would she look at it.

When Annie arrived at the Ellingtons',
she was shown into a small drawing-room
in wdiich Ellen w^as seated, but in such a
position that she could not see her sister
enter. A gentleman was sitting beside her ;
and Annie saw, or fancied she saw, that
Ellen's hand rested in his, and that very
lovingly.

Annie advanced, silent from astonishment ;
she had seen him so casually, that she could
not immediately recognise Eichard Stancliff
—but he it was.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 77

" Annie ! dear Annie !" exclaimed Ellen,
starting up, and hugging rather than em-
bracing Annie, in the exuberance of her
joy. " Bichard, this is Annie !" on which
Mr. StanclifF advanced eagerly, and taking
both Annie's hands in his, kissed her pale
cheek just as if he had been her brother
all her life.

And Annie laughed and cried alternately,
and asked a great many foolish, incoherent
questions, w^hich nobody thought of answer-
ing ; or if they did answer, she did not listen;
and for some hours she remained without
the slightest conception of how the happy
meeting of the lovers had been brought
about, or wdiy she had broken Mrs. Elhng-
ton's beautiful china vase, and had laughed
at the mischief she had done.

In the midst of a very confused, unedifying,
but, to the parties concerned, happy conver-
sation (if conversation it could be called, in
which all engaged talked at the same time),
in came the Doctor, rubbing his hands, and
with a bright light playing over his face
that would settle down nowhere, but was
now lurking round his mouth, now glancing
into one eye, then into the other, like a real
Jack-o'-lantern.

78 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Well, Miss Sherwood, what do yon say
to my patient ? mine, qnotha ! I snppose
this yonng man means to tell me a different
story, as he has stepped into my shoes.
But I shall always consider the cnre ' mine,
and mine only,' as the song says. Glad to
hear you've got rid of that cantankerous old
woman !"

" Who do you mean. Doctor?" asked
Annie, wishing to divert the old man's
attention from the blushing Ellen, and the
scarcely less discountenanced )ver.

" Why, the old w^oman who has been
leading you a life which has made you look
as thin as a certain apothecary, wdio they
say lived in Mantua in olden times. You
needn't deny it, for I know the life you
governesses all lead in Belgravia. Back
attic, no ventilation, or wind enough to set
a mill going; three miles of stairs a-day;
seven of walking out in all weathers ; thir-
teen hours of teaching and talking ; hurried,
nasty meals; eternal legs of mutton and
rice pudding; impudent servants; damp,
unaired clothes ; kicking, scratcliing, scream-
ing children ; and a shrew of a mother ! Oh,
don't I know all about it !"

" But Mrs. Maberly is not an old w^oman,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 79

Doctor, and never sent ns out in the rain at
all, unless tlie children particularly wished it."

" And then you had to drag them through
the mud to that filthy abomination, the
Serpentine ! Seventy-nine distinct bad smells
in it. Coleridge only found seventy-two in
Cologne. Never talk to me about it ! If
I'd a daughter, your Belgr avians might get
her as an upper housemaid, perhaps ; but as
a governess, never, never, if they'd give me
a king's ransom for her 1"

Here the good Doctor lapsed into his ab-
sent habit, and the remainder of his speech
consisted of a soliloquy, only parts of which
reached his companions. " Broken vase, eh !
must be paid for, I suppose. Madame
Ellington makes a fuss about her knick-
knacks. Now, if it were only a child, with
a broken arm, might be repaired, and no
costs ! "Why wiU women have such kick-
shaws about ? Fine young man that Stan-
chif ! Pity he's not in my trade ; make a
good lop-lolly -boy, and afterwards slip into
my practice. What an old fool I am ! No
business of mine, certainly. Ahvays worry-
ing my brain about other people's concerns.
Poor thing ! she looks as if she'd been ill-
used ! Should hke to strengthen her and

80 ANNE SHERWOOD.

help her to beat that termagant 1 Jealous
of her, no doubt !"

" Not the least jealous of me, I assure
you, Doctor,'' said Annie, touching the old
man's sleeve ; "I hope I am not flattering
myself though, in supposing that I am the
object of your thoughts."

" The object of my thoughts, you impu-
dent baggage ! I was thinking of a plan
for cleaning the pestilential Thames, as the

C of S can't do it, with the help

of all his mud-larks."

" But why can't he do it ?"

" For the best of all reasons, his hands are
tied behind his back, and he can't use them."

" And what do you propose ?"

" A plan beyond the reach of any compre-
hension less enlarged than my ow^n."

" Then there can be no use in propounding
it. Doctor, as no one will be equal to its
execution."

" True ; so, like most theorists, I must
live on the sublimity of my own conceptions.
Kemember, I take you in hand to-morrow."

" There is nothing the matter with me,
Doctor."

" Nothing ! Dear me ! Of course not,
or a mere trifle. Only you're just a fit ob-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 81

ject for an anatomical museum, showing a
gentle descent to the Avernus of phthisis !
Didn't I see you in the Park the other
day?"

"Perhaps so," said Annie, colouring a
little, for she greatly disliked saying that
it was indeed she who had been seen strug-
gling with a refractory child, who was
scratching her own wrist, that on her return
home she might show the mark, trium-
phantly exclaiming to her credulous mother,
" See w^hat she has done to me !"

" Perhaps so 1" repeated the Doctor.
"Nonsense! don't I know it was you! I
suppose you wouldn't speak for fear those
angelic children should carry a tale home,
and say I was your beau, eh? Ah, you
needn't laugh, — you might have a much
worse one."

" Certainly I might," said Annie.

" Suppose now, Annie Sherwood, I were
to make you an offer, what should you say?"

" That you were not consulting your own
dignity, sir, or "

" Or your taste ! Well, I believe you
are right, girl. May and December don't
go well together. December 'd get rheu-
matic, tricking himself out in May flowers,

VOL. II. G

82 ANNE SHERWOOD.

and May would shiver in the atmosphere of
ungenial snows."

" Ah, there is nothing like May in me,"
sighed Annie, as she turned away.

" Little enough, Grod knows, poor thing !"
muttered the Doctor; "when once a girl
has settled down to the drudgery of gram-
mars and geographies, she has bid a long
farewell to youth !'*

ANNE SHERWOOD. 83

CHAPTEE VIII.

When Annie at lengtli found lierself quite
alone with EUen, the eager questioning,
with its incoherent repHes, was renewed.
The same things had been asked again and
again, and so badly answered, because so
badly understood, that Annie seemed almost
as far as ever from comprehending all she
most desired to know, and would doubtless
have long remained in ignorance, had not
Ellen hit on the bright expedient of " be-
ginning at the beginning," and recounting
the few simple facts to her, little short of
miraculous, which had brought back her
lover from the shadowy regions to which
her imagination had consigned him.

" It was yesterday, only yesterday, dear
Annie — no, the day before, that I met him —
and, strange to say, I had been dreaming of
him the night before !"

" Not at all strange," said Annie, laugh-
ing ; "I dare say you had dreamt of him
the night before that, and the night before
G 2

84 ANNE SHERWOOD.

that also, and had lam down on purpose to
repeat the dream, just like Goldsmith's
miller Whang, when he had had one vision
of the hidden treasure. However, there was
a difference between his dream and yours, as
his realisation was a ruined fortune, and
yours will, I hope, be a brightened one. Yes,
you have the advantage over Whang !"
" But, Annie, dear, do listen !"
" I will try to listen, darling !"
" Well, as I said before, I had been
dreaming of Eichard ; I fancied that I was
at Elm grove again, and Ellen Ferrers was

doing all she could to separate him from

But, Annie, you have five or six hairs as
silvery as our father's !"

" True," said Annie, laughing ; " I shall
soon learn to sa}',

" ' My hair is grey, but not witli years,
Nor grew it white in a single night,
As some have done through sudden fears.'

If the Doctor were here, he w^ould mutter
' grammars and geographies !' "

" Annie, was the Doctor jesting when he
said, ' Suppose I were to make you an
offer ?' "

'' I dare say he was."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 85

" But if lie were in earnest, would you
accept Mm?"

" The world would call me mad if I did
not. It would be a good money -matcli ;
and, considering the difference in our years,
it would possess the advantage Bevil de-
scribes in Sir Eichard Steele's play, ' One
would soon l3e delivered from what they did
not marry, the person, and enjoy what they
did marry, the money.' But I see you look
horrified, Ellen : allay your fears ; the Doctor
thinks not of me ; no man in his senses
would. I am poor, plain, and have not even
the merit of good humour to make up for
my deficiencies."

" I am sure you always had a sweet
temper !" exclaimed Ellen, warmly.

" But you forget that Mrs. Maberly has
been filing me with rather a sharp tool, and
instead of smoothing me down, has managed
to make sharp gaps in my temper. No, I
can't pretend now to good humour ; but I
suppose that, like other splenetics, I shall
some day soften down, in my own estimation,
into a nervous invalid. Nervousness is such
a pretty little diminuendo for ill-humour !"

'' Nonsense, Annie, but you must tell me
whether you would accept the Doctor."

8G ANNE SHERWOOD.

" JSTot if ' each particular hair' of his head
were a huge diamond, and he showered them
all on me, like the v/indfall that Danae re-
ceived from the father of the gods. No, I
would rather hve by selling lucifer-matches
than sell myself; and if I would, Ellen, no
one would buy me ! But to retrace our
steps, ¥/here did you find your Eomeo ? for
' that's the theme.' You had better go
back to your dream, or you will be like the
preacher who lost the thi-ead of his discourse.
' We dream — we do but dream !' "

" But I did something more than dream,"
said Ellen. '' When I got up, I found Mrs."
Ellington preparing to take her children to
see some experiments at the Polytechnic,
and "

" There you found your Strephon ! JSTot
at all romantic ! I dare say he was going
down in the diving-bell. In novels, lovers
sometimes meet at balls, theatres, and con-
certs, but never at the Polytechnic !"

" Annie, you are incorrigible ! I never
told you I met him there."

" Well, go on your ow^n way, EUen."

" We spent three hours very pleasantly
at the Polytechnic, and saw among other

ANNE SHERWOOD. 87

things some very curious experiments in the

atmospheric "

" Ellen, I can't listen ; you are like Pope's
woman — I forget her name — who could

" ' Mark the figures on an Indian chest/

while her adoring swain was making love T

" When we came out/' continued Ellen,
" the first thing I saw was an old woman
with a basket of oranges "

" You tantalising girl ! Was Richard
hidden under them ?"

" No, but they were -"

" Well, do pass over them. There's no-
thing interesting in oranges. Ah ! I forgot
that lovely song of Mignon's, * Kenst du,' it
begins."

" Having arrived at the persuasion that
there is something poetical in oranges, will
you venture on one now?" said Ellen, who
had a basketful beside her.

'' No, thank you, ' I should fall ofi*,' as
Leigh Hunt said to a lady who made liim
the same propositici."

" Well, just as the old woman was cross-
ing Regent Street, with her ponderous
basket "

" Ellen, your story and my interruptions

88 ANNE SHERWOOD.

remind me of ' the farmer who was fond of
ducks and green peas,' in the Citizen of the

World r

" Annie, you are provoking ! I never
called you so before ! Just as the old woman
was in the act of crossing, a dashing
cabriolet drove up at such speed that she
and her oranges were in the most imminent
danger."

" And Celadon rushed to her assistance !"
" Not at all. A gentleman in the cab
called out to a pedestrian, in a voice whose
disagreeable tone seemed very familiar to
me, — ' Huntly, old fellow, how are you ?
Isn't my turnout stunning ? Don't I hold
the ribbons well, that's all ! Altogether first
rate, ain't it ?' ' Like its master, irresistible !'
was the reply, as Mr. Vincent raised his
whip to send on the horses in style. Un-
fortunately, the lash was very long, and
struck the poor old woman in the eye ; she
had ignorantly approached too near, sup-
posing that the fine gentleman would buy
her oranges. With a scream of pain, she let
her basket drop, and its contents rolled in
every direction ; some of the oranges were
smashed by carriage-wheels as they rolled
along. A number were eagerly snatched by

ANNE SHERWOOD. 89

the loitering boys, wlio seemed to think they
had made a good harvest. I dare say I
looked very absurd doing it, but I could not
help stooping to pick up some of the oranges
and replace them in the basket, more espe-
cially as I had heard the poor old woman
exclaim, as soon as her anguish would allow
her to perceive her loss — ' Sure, an all I had
in the world's gone now ! Sure, an' it was
in the basket, an' nothin' but ruin's before
me ! Bad luck to him, anyhow ! Sure, an'
it's himself that's no jontleman. Niver once
to say he was sorry afore he driv'd away
with his fine box !'

" A crowd soon gathered round, and I
began to feel uncomfortable ; still I would
not let false shame stop my doing a right
thing. Mrs. Ellington stood on the pave-
ment waiting for me. I am sure she would
have helped me, if her courage had not failed
her. Just as I had put the last orange
which I could find, in the basket, and the
poor woman was bemoaning at once her in-
jury and her losses, a gentleman came up,
inquired what was the matter, and examined
the injured eye. He said that the poor
creature would lose her sight, if it were not
immediately attended to. Without adding

90 ANNE SHERWOOD.

more lie called a coacli, put tlie poor old
woman and lier basket in, and desired the
coachman to drive immediately to St.
George's Hospital. Oh, Annie, it was
Bichardj'^and he had not seen me ; or if he
had, he had not recognised me. Joy and
surprise ahke chained me to the spot, and
sealed my lips. Mrs. Ellington led me
away; she saiv somethmg had happened,
though she could not tell what. She knew
little of my past history. I could not talk
freely to her. Despite her kindness and
sympathy, she has too much of the world's
conventionalities about her, to render con-
fidence easy.

"I spent the rest of the day in a be-
wildered but pleasant dream. True, I had
to account to myself for Eichard's seemingly
strange conduct ; but I was sure he could ex-
plain it most satisfactorily, and it never
occurred to me to doubt him in the least
degree.

" In the evening the Doctor came. I was
in my own Httle sitting-room. He talked for
a short time with the Ellingtons, and then
came up to me. I think Mrs. Ellington
must have told him of our morning's adven-
ture, for as soon as he had seated himself, and

ANNE SHERV/OOD. 91

muttered a few words for his own edification,
lie "began with, 'Tell me all about the old
woman and her oranges.' When I had
complied with his request, he exclaimed,
abruptly, ' That's not all ! Who was that
good-looking jackanapes driving tandem? —
tandem in Eegent Street, eh ? Did you say
he was called Eichard?'

'' ' Oh no, sir !' said I, ' his name is
Francis Vincent.'

" ' Some old flame of yours. Miss Helena?'

" ' No, sir,' I answered, hastily ; ' if I did
not think it wrong, I should say Mr. Yincent
was the most hateful of men. An old ac-
quaintance, truly, but recognised with more
aversion than pleasm^e.'

" ' Well, don't look angry ! I never saw
you with such a vixenish look before. The
truth is, it's in all women, and only wants
an occasion to come forth ! You didn't see
any other old acquaintance, I suppose ?' added
he, looking very scrutinizingly at me. ' You
didn't grow red, then white, then red and
vvdiite again, just as you do now ! You
didn't tremble and shake just as you do at
this minute !'

" I believe the Doctor was right ; I was
really trembling and colouring, and I am

92 ANNE SHERWOOD.

afraid feeling rather vexed too; but it's
impossible to be really angry with the Doctor,
he is so good and kind. He looked at me
with an odd smile, and added, ' You needn't
look just as if you'd picked a pocket, but
may just as well tell the story in a straight-
forward way. By a singular coincidence,
you happened to know the name of the
gentleman who took possession of the old
v/oman and her traps !'

" ' Yes,' said I, hesitatingly.

"'WhoisV?^

" ' A clerg3^man ; one of tlie clergymen of
a parish in which I used to live.'

" ' Ah, good ! ver^^ good, indeed ! And he
w^as a curate, a young, interesting curate,
eh? Good-looking, student-like, Kirke-
Whitish ? Wrote verses, and lent you sen-
timental books !'

" I tried to laugh, but failing, cried ; and
then the Doctor got it all out of me in five
minutes. He subsided with 'Humph!' a
few minutes' silence, and then began his
usual soliloquy.

" ' Silly girl, thought she'd more sense !
But all of us make fools of ourselves at some
period of our lives. Business must be
looked into ! Some young scapegrace, I'll

ANNE SHERWOOD. 93

answer for it. Jilted lier, no doubt. Fool
of a girl ! Women all alike — ready to die
for a good-for-notliing dog ! an lionest man
may go liang for them. Glad I never

married — yet Well, I must be off.

Good-bye, Miss Helena, going to a very in-
teresting operation indeed; wouldn't miss
seeing that leg off for something ! I've still
a hankering after surgery. Don't know the
old orange- woman's name, eh ? or the hos-
pital she w^ent to ?' ^

" ' I don't know her name,' said I, ' but
she went to St. George's Hospital.'

'' ' A^ery good ; I shall peep at her ; I
should like to see that case myself

" So saying, the Doctor left, but on the
staircase I heard, 'Funny business, very;
young people will be young ! Black-coated
fellows often not good for much; talk of
red coats ! a thousand times more mischief
in a cassock ! Funny business ; thought it
w^asn't all grammars and geographies 1
Should like to cudgel the fellow !'

"When the Doctor was gone, I had a very
good cry at having been led to say so many
silly things ; more especially as I felt sure
that he would talk of me in his soliloquies
all day long, and that before all sorts of

94 ANNE SHERWOOD.

people. I was going to wTite it all to you,
but that I knew I could tell you better.
And then, dear Annie, yesterday, Eicliard
walked in, and I felt as if I should die with
joy. Some time passed before I was col-
lected enough to understand what he tried
to tell me; but at last he succeeded in
making me comprehend, that he had been
vainly seeking me almost ever since we
parted at Elmgrove. The letter which I
had written to him before leaving he had
never received ; consequently, he had no
clue to my address, and all his efforts to
trace me had proved useless. He has been
some weeks staying in London, and was
preparing to leave and take possession of a
new curacy in Somerset, wiien he called at
the hospital to inquire for his j»?'0ifey6%, the
old Irishwoman. The nurse of the ward
asked his name, and then put a card in his
hand — our dear old Doctor's — on which he
read, ' Dr. Sinclair's compliments, and would
be gratified by a few moments' conversation
with Mr. Stancliff, if he could make it con-
venient to call in L Street.'

" Eichard sav/ and comforted the poor old
woman, and proceeded immediately after to
L Street. The Doctor was engaged,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 95

but begged Mr. Stancliff would amuse him-
self with a book for a feAV minutes. He ac-
cordingly took one from the table of the
room into which he had been shown, and
found, to his inexpressible surprise, my
name written in the boldest and most
striking characters on the cover. Of course
the circumstance seemed very singular, and
the more so as the book happened to be
purely medical. Still, Eichard did not
suppose that the strange coincidence of
names was other than accidental. But he
took up another and another volume, and
found the same thing repeated. Of course
the Doctor had taken the trouble to write
them in all for Eichard's edification, and had
left him alone, recommending a book, in
order to bring about the denouement he
wished.

" When Dr. Sinclair came in, he was very
cordial, shook Eichard warmly by the hand,
and said he was delighted to make his
acquaintance. He praised his humanity to
the oranges — to the orange-woman, I mean
— and after a half-hour's conversation, during
which the Doctor kept so wide awake that
he did not once soliloquize, (though he had
seemed all the time as if he wanted to intro-

96 ANNE SHERWOOD.

duce some subject foreign to tlie conver-
sation,) he exclaimed abruptly — ' I am just
going to see a pet patient of mine !' Here
Eicliard started up, expressing a fear that
he was detaining the good Doctor.

" ' Not at all,' he replied ; ' pray sit dow^n.
The fact is, my patient is convalescent. A
very interesting case, Mr. Stancliff, one of
those poor, hard-w^orked, ill-used governesses.
I dare say you know how they're treated.
It's ' do, dog, while you may !' and then
they're turned off to starve. I've often
stood up for them to some high and mighty
dame, wdth more tin than temper ; but I dare
say they got worse snubbed afterwards, and
had impudent insinuations thrown out
about the old man that took their part.
But this was a very interesting case — young
creature • — clergyman's daughter — Miss Sher-
wood— same name as the woman that made
so many books, you know — wdiat business
have women to make books ?'

"Here Richard started up again, and
begged so earnestly for further informa-
tion, that the Doctor gave him a hard slap
on his shoulder, and told him he ' knew
all about it, and that if he wished to renew
his acquaintance with Ellen Sherwood, he

ANNE SHERWOOD. 97

had better bestow himself in the corner of
the brougham at the door ;' on that hint he
acted.

"And now, dear Annie, comes the most
joyous part of all (after the joy of finding
Eichard alive and well) — he has a nice
curacy, 150/. a-year, and he says we can
manage wxU with that. You are to give up
' grammars and geographies,' and the Doctor
is to give me away on May-day. He and
Richard have settled it all between them,
and they seemed so pleased with their plans,
and so pleased Avitli each other, that I did
not like to contradict them; and then,
Annie darling, we are to set off straight for
Banner Else (the new curacy), where Ave
shall have the prettiest of all pretty cottages.
We shall be so happy, shan't we ? Do say
yes, Annie ! Shall we not be happy ?"

" You will be, dear Ellen, with yoiu' sunny
faith."

" And you too, darling ! Say that you
will be happy, too !"

" Oh, yes !" replied Annie ; but she an-
swered with a sigh, and, wishing to turn the
conversation, said, " How came the Elling-
tons to ask me here?"

" I am not sure," said Ellen, " but I sus-

VOL. II. H

98 ANNE SHERWOOD.

pect that the Doctor was the plotter and
contriver of that event, as he seems to be of
everything pleasant. To tell the truth,
though she is amiable, I don't think Mrs.
Ellington particularly Hberal, (of course that
is accounted for by their not being rich,)
and lately, I have strongly suspected that
some invisible friend satisfies her for my ex-
travagant style of boarding."

"I do not suspect, but am sure of it l"
said Annie. "Dear, generous, old man,
what can have inspired him with such bene-
volence ?"

" ' He who feedeth the young ravens when
they call upon him,' " answered Ellen, smil-
ing through a mist of tears. " But, Annie
dear, I hope the sense of our obligation to
Dr. Sinclair does not oppress you."

" Oh, no !" said Annie, " benevolence like
the Doctor's, is too unostentatious to be op-
pressive."

" Eichard has given me a full description
of our future home," continued Ellen ; "I
understand the plan of the rooms so well ;
there are casement windows, and a thatched
roof. You are to have the west room
(Eichard says it is the prettiest in the
house), and we mean to make it so nice.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 99

There is jasmin twining over your window,
and throngli its silver stars you will see the
lovely Mendip Hills. There is to be a nice
bookcase in your sanctum, and perhaps
Charles Turner will let you have papa's
books, and his old writing-table; you will
like it better than a new one. Oh, Annie!
Annie ! I am so happy. Ought we not to
be happy and grateful too, now that our
storms and trials are all over — quite, quite
over? Surely our blessed Father's spirit
will be permitted to look down and smile on
us in our Httle Paradise ! And then, Annie,
to think of the good we may do if we are
humbly dihgent in Grod's service. The dear,
white-haired old men and women that we
may visit and comfort ; the little ones that
we may train to virtue and happiness. I
have but one fear, only one, that the life
dear Eichard has promised me may tempt
me to make my Heaven below !"

H 2

100 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTER IX.

We will not tire our readers with a disserta-
tion on the wedding of an obscure curate,
who had scarcely a relation or friend, and
the yet more obscure governess, who had
still fewer of either. Yet a right merry
wedding it was, if chastened joy and holy
love can properly be called merry.

Lucan makes the magnificence of fallen
Pompey's obsequies by describing what there
was not, in the way of splendour, thus almost
clothing meagreness in grand attire; so, if
we were to attempt describing the above-
mentioned wedding, we should say, it did
not take place by licence, nor at St. Greorge's,
Hanover Square. The ceremony was not
performed by his Grace of Canterbury. The
bride did not wear magnificent jewels ; she
had not a Honiton lace dress, nor a Mechlin
veil. There were not six bridesmaids in
white dresses and pink satin jackets, each
bearing a bouquet of choice exotics. There
was not a brilliant train of equipages, nor a

ANNE SHERWOOD. 101

crowd of noMe relations and friends. Tliere
was not a dejeuner from Grunter's. The
happy bride and bridegroom did not set off
immediately after the ceremony for a Con-
tinental tour, or to the Lakes. In fact, they
left undone a thousand indispensable things.

And yet it was a happy wedding, and the
sun shone out on that bright May-day, and
smiled on the innocent young bride, just as
if it had come to say, " Of such is the king-
dom of Heaven !"

The breakfast — for there really was one —
was given at the good Doctor's, and the
bride and bridegroom, instead of rushing off
in a paroxysm of hunger, remained a brief
space to partake of it, and to share, too, the
pleasure of the few friends that had gathered
round them.

The friends in question were not rich nor
fashionable, indeed, they were of the work-
ing classes, i.e., poor, care-w^orn governesses,
to whom Ellen wished to give a day's hap-
piness on her own happy day.

The only person of any importance pre-
sent was Mrs. Harrington, who, as the
hospitable host was a bachelor, had kindly
promised to do the honours for him.

Every one had some little offering to

102 ANNE SHERWOOD.

make the fair bride, some trifling token of
good-will. Mrs. Harrington gave her a
pnrse of her own knitting ; nothing in it,
though, but two or three pieces of crumpled
paper to show off the silk netting, but Ellen
was not to take the paper out till she could
fill the purse with coin.

" That will never be, unless I get a
living," said Eichard, laughing. " We shall
soon sHp down the hill, into a Mr. and Mrs.
Primrose."

The Doctor sat at the table, eating very
little, but busy helping everybody else,
while the Jack-o'-lantern smile was playing
over his merry face, and yet his eyes were
moist. He had given the bride a handsome
volume of launch, and a sealed envelope con-
taining a prescription, which was not to be
opened till the next day ; so Ellen did not
dare to peep in, to see if there was anything
else than the prescription.

" Ah !" sighed the Doctor, after a little
preliminary soliloquizing, " I ought to have
got married thirty years ago. Wliat non-
sense I'm talking. I hadn't a coat to my
back thirty years ago, and little thought
what life's ' wicissitoodinous' changes would
do for me. The way I got on in life was by

ANNE SHERWOOD. 103

bnUjdng people. I took to bullying because
it was tlie secret of Abernetliy's success.
You do look so comfortable at tlie place
where my wife ought to be, Mrs. Harring-
ton. I declare you brighten the atmosphere ;
it will be dingy enough to-morrow. Annie
Sherwood, just sit there a minute ; let's see
how you'd look in that seat. Mrs. Harring-
ton wont mind giving it up for a minute ;
I know she wont. There, very well. Hold
up your head. A little more dignity. Let
me have the pleasure of drinking wine with
you, Mrs. Sinclair. Timothy, carry this
wine to your mistress."

The Doctor was so well known that no
one looked surprised at his jest, and he
seemed so thoroughly to enjoy it, that Annie
never dreamt of m^arring his sport, till he
exclaimed, half in jest, half in earnest —

" Once for all, Annie Shervfood, and in
the face of this good company, will you
accept my sixty years, brown wig, brougham,
and establishment ?"

" Directly I have overtaken you in the
journey of life, Doctor!" answered Annie, try-
ing to laugh, though she was really very
uncomfortable at the attention directed to
her. Annie Sherwood httle thought that

104 ANNE SHERWOOD.

tlie day would come, in wliicli she would look
back with regret, and wish the Doctor's offer
had been sober earnest, and her reply grate-
ful compliance.

" I am sure any one might be glad to accept
an offer so frankly made, and promising such
happiness !" said Hortensia Maynard, with a
sigh, and a very tender glance at the Doctor,
but he neither saw nor heard her : his face
was very red, his air " distrait," and he was
furiously taking snuff; he took it like the

veteran Sir Charles N , loose from his

waistcoat pocket, and with a little silver spoon.

There was a carriage at the door. Not a
chariot, with a pair of blood horses, and gold-
laced postilions ; but the same chocolate
brougham which had taken some of the
party to church. Then came a great deal of
shaking of hands, and a great many civil
speeches, which were all and each reaUy
meant, and that civil speeches seldom are.
But then there were no great and fashionable
people present, and what was better still,
none who fancied themselves great and
fashionable, unless indeed it were poor Hor-
tensia Maynard, who had studied the peer-
age and baronetage so long, and knew so
many titles, and had caught a glimpse of so

ANNE SHERWOOD, 105

many lionourables, tliat she really did fancy
slie was somebody. Poor Hortensia ! it was
such a harmless fancy, and it made her so
happy !

Of course, the Doctor would kiss the bride,
and the demand created neither blushes, nor
exclamations, nor surprise ; but the young
girl held her fair cheek affectionately to
the old man, to whom she owed life and
happiness.

A minute later the curate (with his wife
and sister) w^as gone, and the group of poor
governesses returned to their labours, sigh-
ing, and wondering whether such a day
would ever come for them ! And the old
Doctor stood in his lonely dining-room, ten
times more lonely since he had seen it filled
wdth cheerful faces, and he too sighed as he
looked after the train of women, some very
young, some old before their time, some really
approaching a period of life when soul and
body implore peace and rest ! " Poor things 1
back to their dens, and bondage 1" muttered
the Doctor. " Well, they've had one pleasant
day. God knows when they'll get another !
Saucy girl, that Annie Sherw^ood ! ugly, too,
the w^orld would say, but she's not, no, that
she's not — she's handsomer than Ellen ! Ah,

106 ANNE SHERWOOD.

if I were thirty years younger, I would —
yes, that I would ! What an old fool I am !
There's mischief in that girl, with all her
high, noble spirit, and her pride ! A true-
hearted friend, but hang me if I should like
such a determined wrench for an enemy !
Well, it's none of my business. Wonder
whether she'll live with the Stancliffs, or go
out again ! Great fool if she does ! but it's
no matter to me, not the least in the world !
How" she laughed at my sixty years and wig,
and all that silly speech I made ! She's a
clever girl, but as saucy a one as ever turned
a man's brain ! I'm too old to have mine
turned, and it's no business of mine. Here,
Timothy, take avv'ay this rubbish from the
table, and bring me The Lancet !'

" The cutting article, sir, for blood-letting?"

" No, you grinning monkey, the cutting

article on blood-letting ;" and the Doctor sat

down, w^ell pleased, and rubbed his hands,

because he fancied he had made a joke !

ANNE SHERWOOD. 107

CHAPTEE X.

Six weeks from tlie day of her sister's happy
bridal found Annie Sherwood again in Lon-
don, seeking an " appointment/' as Hortensia
Maynard called it. Annie's was too proud a
spirit to be easily reconciled to dependence
on a scarcely know^n brother-in-law, but she
had passed six very happy weeks with her
dear Ellen, long enough to feel assured that
her happiness was secure in her union with
the most generous and noble-minded of men.
So satisfied was Annie with the blessed lot
of her heart's idol, that she returned to the
struggle of life, almost reconciled to its diffi-
culties, her character at once softened and
elevated, and much of the painful past almost
obliterated from her mind.

Ellen was sheltered from the w^orld's cold
atmosphere : she had courage to face a tem-
pest. Ellen was placed beyond the reach
of want ; she could alone, endure many pri-
vations ! Ellen was to be no more assailed
by the taunts and insults addressed by the

108 ANNE SHERWOOD.

vulgar-minded to their dependents ; they
might assail her, but they would recoil, and
leave her unscathed 1 In fact, the aim of her
life seemed accomplished ; Ellen w^as happy,
and surroinided by an atmosphere of hope
and love.

It was not solely the desire of indepen-
dence which led Annie to return to her
arduous profession ; it was at least as much
the dread of diminishing the curate's small
means, by increasing the expenses of the
little household. Besides, Annie had a pretty
little Utopian scheme of saving a small
fortune from her salary for Ellen's future
benefit. She forgot to calculate how many
long years of anxious toil must pass, ere she
could lay up even two or three hundred
pounds from such a modest salary as she
could command.

Annie Sherwood had come to London,

and taken up her old quarters in N •

Street (there to exist on the three crumpled
joapers found at the bottom of Mrs. Har-
rington's wedding present to EUen), till she
could find employment ; but she was in ex-
cellent spirits, and opened her new campaign
with vigour. Her name was entered at
nearly all the agencies in London ; she duly

ANNE SHERAVOOD. 109

advertised in the Times and Record^ and then
tried patiently to await tlie result.

In the meanwhile she employed herself in
writing a long story, very full of incidents,
and clothed in beautiful language, but very
deficient in many of the points which make
a long story acceptable to a publisher or a
reader.

There was no answer to Annie's advertise-
ments, and the agencies failed to supply her
wants. Annie looked forward to protracted
trials, but she felt no dismay. " Ellen is safe
and happy !"

With a steady hand, she transcribed her
tale, and with unwearied patience carried it
from publisher to publisher; they all declined.

Annie returned home, serious, but not cast
down. She thought over her work, and de-
tected or fancied she detected, a thousand
faults in her MS. which in another attempt
might be avoided. That very day, she began
another tale ; she wrote night and day,
scarcely allowing herself time for sleep.
There was no one to disturb her in her soli-
tude : her few friends did not know she was in
town, so they could not possibly interrupt
her. In a fortnight her task was completed :
it was a tale of love and jealousy, passions

110 ANNE SHERWOOD.

which Annie had never known; but she threw
her whole soul into the composition, and it
had grown into a life-like reaUty which
pleased and surprised herself. She did not
sit down to criticise the imperfect work, but
she knew it was true to nature, by the emo-
tions it had produced in her own mind while
her hand had traced each varied scene. And
the obscure girl in that little room, felt for
awhile unspeakably happy — happy in the
consciousness of her own powers — yet more
so, in that of untiring perseverance, which
discouragement could neither subdue nor
undermine.

But now came the question, how was the
story to be disposed of? Could Annie
present it to the very men who had just
repulsed her ?

"While debating the point, a ''vulgar
reality" came to interrupt the author's
thoughts ; her landlady entered, with no-
thing more ethereal than a tray, containing
something dignified with the name of dinner.
A loaf of brown bread, a knife or two, a
plate, a glass and a bottle of cold water
(besides some mysterious-looking object
wrapt in a piece of newspaper), were spread
on the tray. ''It's eating money, that it is,

ANNE SHERWOOD. Ill

Miss, eating cheese/' said the fat landlady ;
" if that bit didn't cost every farthing
of fivepence-halfpenny, my name's not
Mitchel, and yet Mr. Hogg pretended lie
let me have it cheap ; but my 'pinion is, a
rashern of bacon 'd come cheaper, and be
more relishin' like !"

" Thank yon, it will do very nicely," said
Annie, abstractedly. " The very thing I
most wanted !" she continued.

" Is it, Miss ! Then I'm sure you're easy
satisfied, if a bit of cheese can do it ; and
you may thank 'eaven that's made you very
humble-minded !"

Annie smiled ; she was indeed seemingly
intent on the cheese, for she was reading
the soiled paper that enclosed it, and which
proved to be a leaf from a penny journal of
amusement and graver pretension, despised
indeed by the aristocrats, but circulated
among the million through the length and
breadth of the land ; and not there alone, but
in our distant colonies, till it has become the
type of civilization and entertainment among
the masses, while its enterprizing publisher
is fast realizing a princely fortune among the
great capitalists of this age of gold.

" This wiU do !" exclaimed Annie, as she

112 ANNE SHERWOOD.

read the publisher's address. " A tiling like
this is open to all competitors. I will try
here, whether success or failure be the con-
sequence. And if I do succeed," she added,
with a radiant smile, "perhaps from this
humble point I may struggle upwards ; if
that is not reserved for me, I will be the ro-
mancer of the people. Better, perchance, to
make the warm hearts of the million beat
with pleasure than to be coldly anatomized
by the fastidious few !"

No sooner had Annie dispatched her
humble meal, than she made up her parcel,

wrote a note to the editor of the F , and

set off for tlie Strand. There arrived, she
walked on in an absent fit, forgetting her
intended patron's address, and only waking
to remembrance, when she found herself just
opposite Bolt Court, in Fleet Street. The
busy tide of human life was flowing by, and
she felt borne on in the wavy motion in a
half- dreamy state, till an elbow, rudely
tlirust into her side, drove her under the
courtway to recover breath and memory.
When Annie came forth again, she w^as
conscious that she had travelled a long
w^ay out of her road, and must retrace her
steps ; but she had been repaid by conjuring

ANNE SHERWOOD. US

up the image of the great and good Johnson
lumhermc/ up Fleet Street, his colossal mind
fall of great thoughts — too full to permit of
his observing social life's every-daj usages.
When Annie Sherwood found herself at

the publisher's of the F , she resolved,

instead of giving her note, boldly to request
anintervicAV with \h.^ (/re at man — for a great

man Mr. is, though he does publish a

penny paper. But little did our heroine
know of the potentate she was attempting
to approach. That was not one of his re-
ception days ; and regular reception days he
had, like any crowned head ! Eegular days,
too, on which he was invisible as Pope's
" Eastern Kings," and on which his satellites
affected a dignified mystery that would have
led any one to suppose the great man had at
least been summoned to take a seat in the
Privy Council. To the great mans credit
be it spoken, however, that his followers,
however dignified in one sense, however
touched with the orgeiiil legitime of being
connected with such an establishment, have
little of the pride of place in other respects ;
and aspirants for literary employment are
never rudely repulsed in that office, however
feeble, or even ridiculous, their efforts may be.

VOL. II. I

114 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Finding slie had as much chance of ad-
mittance to Buckingham Palace as to the

editor of the F , our heroine committed

her MS. to the care of a particularly civil
young man, who as yet was not elated to the
seventh heaven by his position of confi-
dential clerk to the establishment. Being
told that in five or six weeks she w^ould
know the result of her application, she de-
parted, mth a confused idea that she had
committed a very daring act ; that she had
been very near seeing a very great man, and
that if her contribution were accepted, she
would certainly have at least %yq pounds
as its purchase money. What a sum ! It
seemed magnificent. Four or five pounds
for literary labour ! A labour of love to the
young author ; even such, in the warmth of
composition, to the wearied scribbler, who
has given the best years of his life, the
brightest fancies of liis heart and mind, for a
mere nominal remuneration; given them,
too, w^ith the heart- sickening consciousness
that they were to enjoy but an ephemeral ex-
istence, and never to be called by his name.
The contributions to small periodicals are
usually anonymous.

The stipulated number of weeks had

ANNE SHERWOOD. 115

passed, and Annie had spent the interval
in renewed efforts to obtain an " appoint-
ment" as governess ; stiU no success attended
her. With breatliless eagerness she snatched

the F to see if there were any answer

for her. None ! she turned quite sick and
faint. She must try to forget her disap-
pointment ; the following w^eek might bring
her better news. She would not despond,
for all was well with Ellen.

Annie went to see Mrs. Harrington. She
found her kind, cordial, and unworldly as
ever; and Bertha as happy, nay, happier
than before. She renewed her acquaintance
with the tribe of Belgravian governesses — a
little w^orld in themselves. Some so patiently
enduring, so angelic; others so cunning,
so revengefal in their bondage : some so full
of love and devotion, because a little kindness
had been shown them ; others intriguing
and vindictive, because their employers had
showm them harshness, or, it might be, only
that supercilious pride wdiich the enlarged
mind w^ould despise too much to resent.

Poor Julie was as meek and amiable as

ever; as eager to renew Annie's French

lessons as she had been to begin them ; but

liard work, and a continued system of ili-

I 2

116 ANNE SHERWOOD.

treatment, had told on the poor girl's health,
and she looked pale and sickly. Annie
hesitated to tax her strength by adding to
her v/ork, hut Julie insisted that the lessons
were rather a recreation than a fatigue, so
they were resumed.

Hortensia Maynard came to see Annie,
with a profusion of high-sounding promises
of an immediate appointment. She really
herself believed all she promised (she had so
many noble and influential friends), and it
woidd have been very ungrateful in Annie
not to believe it too, so our heroine did her
best to look credulous.

Annie had not l^een so fortunate as to
meet Dr. Sinclair since her return to tow^n,
though she longed to see his genial face
again. At length, after long waiting and
w^atching, came an offer from the publisher

of the ¥ to purchase Annie's MS.

at 20/.

If the mines of Potosi had been thrown
open to our heroine, she could scarcely have
felt more elated than she did with this first-
fruits of her mental labour !

" Misfortunes come in groups," said a
learned prelate ; good fortune seems equally
fond of society. The day that brought

ANNE SHERWOOD. 117

Annie Sherwood lier first literary gain,
brousrlit also a letter, addressed X. Y. Z., a
very late answer to one of lier numerous
advertisements. Thus ran the epistle : —

'' The person advertising (under the initials
X. Y. Z.) for a situation as governess m a
nobleman's family, &c., is requested to call
at Lady Adelaide Curzon's, No. — , Grros-
venor Square, to-morrow, at three o'clock
precisely."

"Wliat a blessing!" exclaimed Annie.
" Not a civil word in it ! Nothing to take
one in and ensure disappointment ! Beyond
the precincts of this pretending, detestable
Belgravia. How happy I shall make Ellen
with my next letter ! To-night I will write,
and tell her all!"

118 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XI.

It was a magnificent mansion. The high
priest of rank and fashion could not have
desired a more gorgeous shrine on which to
offer ohlations to his divinity. The gover-
ness candidate stood w^aiting in the marble
hall. Several servants w^ere standing there
in a group, discussing pohtics. Their master
was one of the most active of the Commons'
members — one of the most frequent and
lengthy speakers, if not oneof the best; he had
been a member of a lately-dissolved Cabinet ;
of course his servants were politicians.

They were not actually rude to the "decayed
gentlewoman" who had " come after the go-
verness's place ;" they only eyed her rather
superciliously, and, deciding that she was not
at all a " splendid v/oman," hoped Lady
Adelaide would know better than to engage
her. Annie heeded them not ; she was al)-
sorbed in the contemplation of a statue from
the divine hand of Canova, and so remained,
till summoned to wait on Lady Adelaide

ANNE SHERWOOD. 119

Curzon. Slie followed the page up tlie broad
marble stairs, and into a suite of drawing-
rooms, wliicli even in dayliglit dazzled the
unaccustomed eye, so rich were they in
draperies, mirrors, alabaster groups, and
other objects of ornament. Not that the
luxurious prodigahty was too great, nor that
it outstepped the bounds of refined taste.
Every here and there, too, something of
a more sober hue occurred, chastening
the general tone, which otherwise might
have been too gorgeous. In a fauteuil,
leaning very far back, but yet gracefully,
sat a lady who might have been about thirty
years of age. She appeared immensely tall,
even seated, her figure exquisitely propor-
tioned, her head proudly beautiful ; it might
have been the head of Juno, and was that of
Lady Adelaide Curzon.

How supremely beautiful she looked as
she turned round that classical head, whose
bright yellow locks were arranged like those
of a statue, and displayed a set of features
as faultless as artist or sculptor ever con-
ceived, a finely-moulded brow, lips chiselled
and still retaining the bright vermihon glow
of earhest youth ! Her eyes — ^large, violet-
coloured eyes — seemed to glow and melt at

120 ANNE SHERWOOD.

tlie same moment, and were shaded by
rather dark lashes. Her complexion was not
that pink and white which someway or other
one associates with a country dairy, but pure
white, like Carrara marble.

Yes, Lady Adelaide was a beautiful crea-
ture, most beautiful; but there w^as some-
thing in that exquisite face like a tideless
sea — something which said, "beneath this
cold, grand surface lies no passion; this
white bosom has never beat with love, or
joy, or fear, or sorrow; seldom, if ever, with
anger, as the clear, unlined brow shows."
And truly Lady Adelaide had no passions,
unless pride of position and pride of beauty
be passions, and they only made her calmly
satisfied with herself and with her place in
society. She had never met with a human
being sufficiently daring to dispute her pre*
tensions, so nothing had ever occuiTcd to
disturb the calm repose so habitual to her.

The lady's dress was as faultless as her
person; a plain skirt of white merino, a
jacket of deep purple velvet, untrimmed, and
tight to the throat. No ornaments — not
even a ring on the white, cold-looking hands,
except the wedding circlet, which Lady
Adelaide had assumed without one throb of

ANNE SHERWOOD. 121

joy or reluctance, because she was of a mar-
riageable age, because slie had no better
offer, because she had no fortune, and be-
cause the Hon. Mr. Curzon had a large
income and a brilliant place in society.

On a low chair, beside Lady Adelaide, sat
an ugly, mean, miserable-looking woman,
her companion; not old, perhaps, though
she seemed fifty; and her worn, sharp face,
little grey eyes, and withered skin, served ad-
mirably to show off the proud beauty beside
her. She had been reading to Lady Adelaide.

" Dobson," said her ladyship.

" Yes, your ladyship," said Miss Dobson,
reverently rising — she always rose when
Lady Adelaide did her the honour of ad-
dressing her; and she thought there was
something in the tone of the "Dobson"
which imphed that a communication of some
importance was about to be made. " Dobson,
is it not to-day that that person is to call
about the situation ?"

" If your ladyship pleases."

" Did you say in the note at what hour ?"

" Yes, if your ladyship pleases, at three
o'clock."

" What o'clock is it, Dobson ?"

" Nearly three, your ladyship."

122 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Three ! if she is not here now, I shall be
kept waiting ! Eing the bell, Dobson."

At this moment the governess entered.
TJndazzled by the brilliancy of the apart-
ment, Annie stood, really fascinated by the
beauty of that queen-like looking woman.
She remained spell-bound at the entrance of
the apartment, and thus prevented the page's
shutting the door.

" What gaucherie 1" murmured Lady Ade-
laide. " I cannot make myself heard at this
distance." The latter words were intended
for the governess, but the preceding ones
had reached her ears, and while they brought
the blood to her cheeks, they also restored
her self-possession. Annie advanced, quite
free from embarrassment ; and as Lady Ade-
laide made no demonstration of intending
her to be seated, she took a chair uninvited.

" You need not leave the room, Dobson,"
said her ladyship ; " you can go on with my
purse."

" Yes, my lady."

" You are the person who advertised in
the Morning Post ?^' asked Lady Adelaide,
turning to Annie.

" I am," replied Annie, who had suddenly
acquired quite a democratic aversion to

ANNE SHERWOOD. 123

titles, and felt that she could not say " your
ladyship."

" How old are you?"

" Twenty-four."

" You look older."

" Possibly."

" Where have you lived ?"

" In the family of Mr. Maberly."

" Don't know the name ; what is he ?"

" Mr. Maberly is not in any profession ;
he lives in "

" Oh, I suppose one of those petty squires
who imagine themselves people of import-
ance. What can you teach ?"

" The usual branches of education."

" An}"thing else ?"

" Yes, Latin and Greek, and the elements
of mathematics."

" To what age can you go on ?"

" If you mean to refer to my pupils' age,
I could teach a boy till he reached his four-
teenth year."

" Do you know French ?"

" A little."

" Grerman and Itahan ?"

" I read both."

" You are not afraid to undertake boys ?"

" I am not."

124 ANNE SHERWOOD.

''Three?"

" Or more."

" You are determined, decided in charac-
ter? But I need not ask;" and Lady Ade-
laide almost smiled, as she glanced over the
plain pale face before her. " Eesolution will
be wanted with my sons if they are to pro-
gress. They must be well educated, but I
will not have their natural characters inter-
fered with. Your business will be to fur-
nish their heads, and prepare them for
Harrow. There must be no attempt to
sentimentalize them, or make them unfit for
the position they will occupy in life. Wliat
salary do you ask?"

" Sixty guineas," said Annie, with a bold-
ness which quite surprised herself

" Yery well ; I think you will suit me. If
Mrs. Maberly's reply to my inquiries should
be satisfactory, I shall engage you. Write
your address. If you come to me, remember
there must be no conversation with the
servants. My last governess was dismissed
in consequence of her over-fondness for the
housekeeper's room. Dobson, go on with
the book ; where were you ?"

" I — I'm afraid I've lost the place, your
ladyship."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 125

" Stupid of you ! don't let it liappen
asrain. What o'clock is the carriagfe ordered
for ?"

'Tour, please your ladyship.'*

''Well, then, leave off; ring the bell for
Benson."

" Yes, your ladyship."

" Dobson, do try to speak in a pleasanter
voice."

" Yes, my lady."

" And Dobson "

" Yes, my lady."

"While I am out, go up to the school-
room, and read a story to the young gentle-
men. I promised to take Sydney with me,
and a story will put it out of his head."

'' Yery well, your ladyship."

"Wasn't that person ugly, Dobson?"

" Yery ugly, jout ladyship."

"Do you believe she's only twenty-four ?"

"Not the least, my lady; and I only
wonder that she should hope to impose on
your ladyship's discernment."

" Dobson, you may have my violet satin
dress ; but take it before Benson finds you
out."

126 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XII.

When Annie withdrew from Lady Ade-
laide's presence, it was with a strong incli-
nation to dive farther beneath that icy
surface, and discover if anything of human
feeling dwelt in her. She did not feel so
indignant at her hauteur as might have been
expected, for her mind had been amused,
and was so still, with the obsequiousness of
the dependent.

Wlien Annie was pursuing her way home,
she encountered Dr. Sinclair, who nearly
shook her hand off, while he inquired with
fatherly interest after Ellen. " And you,
what are you doing?" he asked.

" Oh, Doctor !" replied Annie, with an
assumption of proud importance which she
counterfeited wonderfully well, "I am — if
the stars are propitious — going to be pro-
moted to great honour."

" Wliat fresh mischief brewing ?"

"I am about to be ' nominated to an

ANNE SHERWOOD. 127

appointment' in the family of Lady Ade-
laide Cnrzon."

'' Lady Adelaide Fiddlestick ! I'll tell
you what, you'll put your foot in it l"

"In what, Doctor?"

"In a worse scrape than you've been in
yet."

" How so ?"

" Why, as far as pride is concerned, you
might as well have hired yourself out to
Master Beelzebub in person. I know a good
deal about these Curzons. The eldest boy —
Sydney, they call him — fell down and broke
his arm ; a bad case ; fever ensued ; surgeon
in attendance called me in. I saved the
boy's life; in return, the young dog drew
himself up for all the world like his mother.
Madam Juno, and asked, ' Do you know who
I am ?' because I proposed his taking a dose
he did not approve of. There's an epitome
of the family spirit 1"

" But he is so young," said Annie ; "he
cannot know much better."

" The boy is the father of the man. Miss
Sherwood."

" True ; but I shan't be troubled with
him when he is a man. What sort of
person is Mr, Curzon ?"

128 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" A good sort of man ; talks away in tlie
Honse, and sometimes says a clever thing,
qnite by accident. Like the rest of the
family, he overrates himself. Something in
him of the fellow that Queen Jamie so
cleverly put down with 'Hoot aw^a', mon;
I did nae ken Adam was a younger son of
the Lnmley family !' Mr. Curzon w^alks as
if the earth weren't good enough for him to
tread on ; but he's a gentlemanly, handsome
fellow^"

" What a beautiful creature Lad}- Adelaide
is !" said Annie.

" A beautiful d !" exclaimed the

Doctor.

" Doctor ! Doctor ! You w^ant my dear
Ellen beside you, to say with her gentle
gravity, ' You are wrong. Doctor ; very, very
wrong.' "

" So I should be, if I used the word for
profane swearing; but I pronounce it ad-
visedly, as the only one to describe Lady
Adelaide Curzon. As calm and cold as she
looks, only do something to rouse her, and
you Vvdll wake a demon. Go to her, and
you'll run your neck into a halter. An
ordinary woman would do w^ell, particularly
if she had a spice of the toad-eater in her,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 129

like that thing Dobson ; but your spirit will
never brook the treatment you'll meet with
in the Curzons' house. You wont sit down
in a corner, and knit a mitten or some other
gimcrack, and cast your eyes down, and say
' yes, your ladyship ;' ' thank your ladyship/
IN'o ; there'll be a pitched battle before a
month !"

" But I must go there, Doctor."
" Must 1 You're a mule if you do !"
" Never mind. Doctor, I must ; it's my
' kismet,' as the Mussulmans say ; I am sure
it is. Do you remember how earnestly Sche-
herazade desired to be the wife of the Sultan,
though likely to be adorned with the bow-
string the day after the accomplishment of her
wish ? So earnestly do I desire to see more
of the Curzons' domicile. Besides, I have
begun to make some verses on the Canova
in the hall ; I must see the object of inspi-
ration again, if they are ever to be finished."
" Object of nonsense !" growled the Doctor ;
" what right has a governess with verse-
making ? Well, Lady Adelaide wont leave
much poetry in you, I promise. I repeat,
you'll repent it if you put your foot in
that house. When you do, remember my
words !"

VOL. II. K

130 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" I will, Doctor ; good-bye. Thank you
for aU your kindness, and not least for your
good advice."

" None of which you mean to take ?"

" I'm afraid I can t take it."

" Why, pray ?"

"To tell you the truth, I have golden
reasons. Lady Adelaide gives sixty guineas
a year — elsewhere I should probably have
half the sum."

" If it's only money " began the

Doctor.

" Oh, no, dear sir, not that alone," inter-
rupted Annie, quickly ; " but this offer of
Lady Adelaide's seems my only chance ; I
dare not let it slip by. You don't know the
difficulty of procuring an engagement; I
have often walked a dozen miles a day in
search of one."

" Poor girl ! poor girl ! I hate the trade,"
said the Doctor, brushing his own hand
across his face, and all the time holding
Annie Sherwood's in his, as if he were going
to say sometliing more — sometliing kind,
something very foolish, perhaps, for he could
not bear to see any one in distress ; but by
the time the words were gathered together,
the little hand had slipt out of his, and

ANNE SHERWOOD. 131

Annie was gone. "Very nearly put my
foot in it/' said, or rather muttered, tlie
Doctor, as he rushed into his brougham ;
" very nearly, indeed. What an old fool I
am ! How the wench would have laughed
at me ! Makes verses, indeed 1 Yes, and I
dare say would rather live in a garret with
some threadbare artist, or crack-brained poet,
than put up with the old Doctor and liis
comforts. Comforts, indeed ! What com-
forts has a lonely old fellow like me — with
no prospect of any one to close his eyes, but
a mercenary crew ? Well, the girl sha'n't
starve when I'm gone, nor toil for proud
upstarts, really her inferiors. She shall have
—Timothy?"

" Yes, sir."

" Nothing ; never mind. I want nothing.

Tell John to drive faster. What an old

fool !"

* * * *

Before a week had elapsed, Annie was
summoned, not to a second conference with
Lady Adelaide, but to take up her residence
at the lordly mansion of the Curzons.

An unusual degree of animation filled
Annie's mind. She felt like the soldier
girding on his harness for the coming battle.
K 2

132 ANNE SHERWOOD.

On arriving at G Square, she was

shown to her rooms, of course at the top and
back of the house. She well knew where
she should find them beforehand. They
were not exactly dirty nor shabby, but de-
nuded of everything approaching comfort or
neatness. No curtains shaded the windows,
nor even a linen blind. The coarse drugget
which partially covered the floor was of the
most sombre and ugly hue which could have
been chosen, and every article of furniture
appeared to have been selected for its very
incongruity. This seems to be the rule in
very splendid mansions ; everything unfit to
be seen is condemned to the school-room,
even the cracked, ill-matched pieces of china.

Annie, though utterly careless of personal
indulgence, w^as pecuharly sensible of the
annoyance occasioned by such a coup d'oeil ;
it was like jarring discords to a refined ear.
She had, however, learnt to command, not
only her words, but her countenance.

Little by little her school-room assumed
a more habitable appearance. Some of the
more unsightly objects w^ere turned out, and
before the end of the week she had curtains
at the widow, concealing the uninviting
prospect without, and even a neat cover on

ANNE SHERWOOD. 133

the table — wliicli article of furniture tlie
young gentlemen had adorned with hiero-
glyphics which would puzzle a Champollion
to decipher.

On the first day of Annie's residence in

G Square, she found her pupils on her

arrival engaged in a very noisy game.

They were beautiful boys — the eldest
especially, though his beauty was somewhat
marred by the haughty, defiant air which
he wore even in play with his little brothers.

As the new governess entered, the game
was momentarily suspended. The three
boys turned ; the two younger laughed and
nodded; the eldest gave one sharp, quick
look, which plainly said, " Remember who I
am !" Then turning his back, he continued
his game.

Annie passed on into her sleeping-room,
took off her bonnet and shawl, and returning,
rang the bell. The boys were astonished ;
the servants astonished and indignant too.
The tailor's daughter never rang the bell.
*' I will trouble you for tea." A daring
woman was the new governess ! She turned
to the children, and spoke in a clear, low
voice, distinctly heard through the din.
" Sydney, I wish to speak to you ; Herbert

134 ANNE SHERWOOD.

and Walter, you may go on with your
game."

Sydney Curzon looked round, surprised at
the rash interruption. He raised his eye-
brows ; but there was something in the new
governess that made him see she meant
what she said, and that it would not be quite
so easy to manage her as it had been the
tailor's daughter. So the young aristocrat
walked up to the pale little woman, debating
in his mind whether it was her voice or her
eye that had moved him.

Annie then proceeded to examine him,
and found him lamentably ignorant even for
so young a child. In answer to her inquiry
as to the reason of his deficiencies, he said,
" I did not choose to learn — it worries me,
and I always make a point of letting people
know who I am 1"

" And I," said Annie, very coolly, " always
make a point of letting people know ivliat I
am; you will soon find out."

" I have found out already."

" That is well — it is a good beginning.
And now tell me, are you fond of reading ?"

" Don't know — really never tried," said
the boy, yawning. " I want to go ; haven't
you done ?"

ANNE SHERWOOD. 135

" No, not quite — bring me yonr school-
books ?"

" Haven't any."

" Indeed ! how have you learnt ?"

" Ob, by conversational instruction ! Only
old-fashioned teachers use books. By the
by, mamma says you're to read stories to us."

"Does she?"

" Yes, I shall fetch Tales from Shakspeare.
You must read Pericles, Prince of Tyre,

" I shall not read this evening, Sydney."

"Shall not?"

" Shall not," repeated the same quiet voice.
You may return to your play. At break-
fast I will explain to you what I wish you
to do."

Sydney looked again at the new governess,
and each look more clearly expressed, " Do
you know who I am?" and the new
governess looked again at the proud boy,
and her calm face as plainly said, " You shall
see what I am."

Sydney Curzon was very like liis mother
— ^beautiful, proud, and selfish ; but then a
child's heart is rarely without some bright
spot to relieve the darker shades.

The two younger boys were wayward,
selfish, and rebellious, but not quite so de-

136 ANNE SHERWOOD.

termined. They, too, were largely imbued
with the aristocratic spirit, but in them it
took a less offensive, though more vulgar
tone. Their ideas of self-importance appeared
such as v/ere derived from the tuition of
mean dependents, avIio, from the first dawdl-
ing of their intelligence, had taken pains to
impress upon them that they "were not
nohodys children." Early accustomed to
the most fulsome flattery, the three boys
seemed fully persuaded that the whole world
was made for them. They were not fond of
their mother ; she had not heart enough to
attach them to her. Hitherto their every
whim had been gratified — more, however,
from Lady Adelaide's apathy than from her
express desire. She had seen very little of
her children, but she was proud of their
beauty, and sometimes took Sydney out with
her, to display him. In some of their drives
she had accidentally discovered that the boy
knew nothing, and was not likely to learn
anything. She had consequently dismissed
the tailor's daughter, and engaged Annie
Sherwood.

Lady Adelaide saw at a glance that Annie
was exactly the person to manage her
children. Her ladyship had very good sense.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 137

Slie discovered that the new* governess had
a strong, determined will. She saw that,
even in her manner towards herself, but she
was beginning to be tired of sycophants ; the
contrast between Annie and Dobson amnsed
her. If the new comer presumed, and in
addition to that calm, independent manner,
presumed on familiarity, Lady Adelaide could
instantly check her — no one so well knew
how.

Lady Adelaide would, of course, see very
little of her children's governess ; one half-
hour daily at luncheon, otherwise never.

At the table, of course. Miss Sherwood
would have* the discretion to be silent; and
she was so plain that no one w^ould think of
noticing her. Altogether she would do very
well, and Lady Adelaide gave herself no
further trouble to know the person to whom
her children's best interests were to be en-
trusted, but consigned them to the care of
the stranger governess, whose salary would
be regularly paid, and who would, of course,
carry on her work in silent contentment.
Annie was well pleased that she had not a
Mrs. Maberly to deal with, who, with equal
haughtiness, had much less understanding
than Lady Adelaide, and effectually coun-

138 ANNE SHEUWOOD.

teracted every effort to improve her chil-
dren.

Sydney Curzon was endowed with excel-
lent natural abilities, and when his intellect
was once aroused, he learnt with rapidity
and success ; but in his character it seemed
that no change could be effected. His intel-
ligence became daily more developed under
skilful culture, and the child learnt some-
thing of his own powers. Ambition was
awakened ; he knew his teacher's superiority,
and he was proud of her praises, but his
young heart was still cold and selfish.

The Curzons were all clever children, and
their habitual indolence gradually yielded to
more skilful training than that to which
they had been accustomed, Wlien the day
had passed satisfactorily, Annie drew forth
" Shakspeare," and read aloud, at once for
Sydney's edification and reward ; and while
she read, her voice, her countenance, so truly
bore the impress of the characters she
sought to portray, that even the selfish
boy's heart beat with delight, and he would
fix his intelligent eyes on the reader's face
with absorbed delight. In fact, Annie Sher-
wood's reading of "Shakspeare" was not
reading ; it was more like animated, though

ANNE SHERWOOD. 139

subdued, recitation. She liad, besides, tlie
art of changing her voice as she delineated
separate characters, which produced almost
the illusion of acting. " Beautiful ! oh,
beautiful !" Sydney would exclaim as he
listened to her ; but when Annie closed the
volume, and thought that perchance his
heart was beginning to warm towards her,
she found that he relapsed immediately into
his habitual state of feeling.

There were few struggles in the Curzons'
school-room, and no scenes. Annie had
learnt a lesson at Mrs. Maberly's, cautiously
to avoid all display of natural feeling, to
command down excitement, preserve an un-
ruffled exterior, and enforce respect if she
could not win love. And yet she longed to
love those fair children, and to be loved by
them, and again and again hoped that time
would draw their affections towards her;
but whenever she attempted to show them
any token of affection, the little fellows would
burst from her impatiently, and though they
did not venture on rebellion, they had a
thousand ways to show that they appre-
ciated her position and their own. Oh,
the sickness of heart that comes over one
who has to deal with a worldly child!

140 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Annie's plan with her pupils had been
equally successful when applied to the aristo-
cratic servants. The calm, quiet tone of her
requests told with them far more than
querulous complaints would have done ; and
any omission w^hich savoured of disrespect
was reproved with a gentle dignity which
seldom failed to ensure more attention.

]N"ot long after Annie's arrival, an oppor-
tunity occurred of trying her newly-formed
tactics. At six o'clock on a cold winter's
morning, a servant held a candle beside her
bed, waking her at once with the glare
and the words, " I've had orders to call
up all the servants at six o'clock every
morning."

" Have you ?" said Annie, in her quietest
tone ; " but you have mistaken my room for
one of theirs ! Be so good as to bring me
some warm water at half-past seven." Such
a mistake never again occurred, and Annie's
material comfort daily increased ; but the
artificial existence she now led, ere long
began to tell upon her health and spirits.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 141

CHAPTEE XIII.

Three montlis liad passed; and though
Annie had daily seen Lady Adelaide at
luncheon, there had been no conversation
between them, at least nothing meriting the
name of conversation. The children talked
very little in their mother's presence, except
Sydney, who was in aU respects a perfect
little man of the w^orld, and conversed freely
on all subjects. To give an idea of his
precocity it may be remarked, that he per-
fectly understood the nature and value of an
entail, and was in the habit of saying that
no conduct of his could possibly prevent his
coming into possession of the family estate
at his father's death — he could not be dis-
inherited. He was accustomed to take his
papa's seat at the table opposite to Lady
Adelaide, help whatever dish was before
him, and drink wine with her ladyship with
most gentlemanly ease.

Annie had not yet seen Mr. Curzon ; he

142 ANNE SHERWOOD.

never missed the House during the session,
and spent a great deal of time at his club.
The new ministry already appeared tottering.
Mr. Curzon, an incarnation of rabid Toryism,
hoped his party would soon return to office.
Of course, he was too much pre-occupied to
be often at home ; besides, the home circle
had few charms for him. He had married
for love; indeed, his attachment to Lady
Adelaide had been most fervent, amounting
to romantic passion ; but not very long after
the wedding, he had discovered that his
beautiful bride had given him a hand with-
out a heart, and did not even possess
sufficient sensibility to regret the sacrifice
she had made. He was naturally affectionate
and domesticated, and keenly felt his dis-
appointment. Two or three efforts to win
his wife's confidence and affection Mr.
Curzon made ; they utterly failed ; and to
forget his loveless, joyless home, he tlirev/
himself into the arena of poHtics, till politics
became his passion.

Lady Adelaide and Mr. Curzon never
quarrelled ; a cold, undisturbed harmony
reigned between them. Nothing could
exceed the formal politeness with which the
man of the world treated the once adored

ANNE SHERWOOD. 143

wife, except the cool chdlity with which
that formal politeness was returned.

Such was the ordinary coolness of their
greeting, that when Mr. Curzon entered one
day unexpectedly at luncheon time, and, bow-
ing to Lady Adelaide, accepted her invitation
to take a sandwich, and seated himself at
the table, Annie had not the most distant
conception that he was the husband of the
proud beauty, and the master of the mansion.

Mr. Curzon looked about thirty-eight ; he
was a strikingly handsome man, with a
great air of dignity and an absorbed manner.
He scarcely spoke, unless in answer to a
question.

''Is Lord likely to keep in?" in-
quired her ladyship.

" Three weeks, perhaps. Has Townsend
caUed?"

"Ask John. I can't remember. Can
you escort me to the opera to-night ?"

" Sorry I can't. Must be at the House.
Claude Douglas will."

" I don't like Claude Douglas."

" Don't you ? Send for Fanshawe."

" I will."

" Sorry I can't go with you. I know it
looks boorish; but the truth is, I'm fagged."

144 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Home late last niglit, I suppose ?"

" About three. What opera to-night ?"

" 'Lucrezia Borgia.' "

" Sorry I can't hear it. Ah, Sydney !
how d'ye do ? Haven't seen you this week !"

'' Yery well, thank you."

And Mr. Curzon was gone, to meet his
family again (by accident) in the course of a
few days. On his first entrance he had given
a cursory glance to Annie, nodded, and said
" Good morning ;" but the overbearing
haughtiness of his manner had appeared so
offensive to her, that she turned away her
head, and seemed neither to observe the
action nor the word.

" How do you like papa ?" asked Walter,
when they had left the table.

" I really don't know ; I have not seen
him," said Annie.

"Why, didn't you know that that was
papa who came in at luncheon ?"

" No, I did not."

" Well, now you know it was he, how do
you like him ?"

" I cannot tell you till I know more of
him."

" Then you'll never tell us at all," said
Sydney ; '' you will never know more of him."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 145

"But I can tell you liow he likes you.
Miss Sherwood," said Walter, laughing, ''and
that is, not at all."

"What shall we read to-night?" said
Annie, v/illing to change the subject.

. " Hamlet',' exclaimed Sydney, with ani-
mation. " Do you know. Miss Sherwood,
when you're reading I quite love you ; but,
somehow, the minute the book is shut I am
myself again, and all the love is gone. I'll
tell you what I should like."

" What should you like, Sydney ?"

" Miss Sherwood, why do you call me
Sydney ? Did you call your last pupils by
their Christian names ?"

" Certainly I did."

" But I wish you would not do it to me.
You might call me Master Curzon. Wlien
you call me Sydney, it looks as if you forgot
who I was."

" Oh, no ! I never forget who you are,
nor what I am ! mind you don't. But what
should you like, Sydney ?"

" To get Lord Claude up here one day, and
you to read one part in Julius Ccesar and he
the other ; it would be just like a real play.
Lord Claude reads as well as you do, and he
is so clever — so very clever."

VOL. II. L

146 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" But who is Lord Claude ?"

'' Oil, Lord Claude Douglas ! don't you
know ? He's half a Scotchman, and half a
Frenchman. He's Lord Dryburgh's younger
brother. His mother was a Frenchwoman,
and he was born and brought up in France,
I don't know whether he's really handsome,
but he has such magnificent eyes. I'll tell
you what they are like. Suppose you had a
large jewel, so deep and dark, almost black,
and you put a mind behind it and let it
shine through."

" I know what you mean," said Annie.

" Yes, you always understand me. His
eyes are jewels, through which a soul shines,"
repeated Sydney, '' and he is like Hamlet ;
he always makes me think of Hamlet, except
when he laughs merrily, and joins in our
games. And he has such a beautiful voice.
Miss SherAvood ; nobody's singing is half so
beautiful as Lord Claude's speaking. I shall
bring him up to see you some day."

'' No, you must not, Sydney."

"Wliy not. Miss Sherwood?"

"Because I say veto; you can construe
that?"

" And I say voleo ; and you can construe
ihatj Miss Sherwood."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 147

" I shall not read Hamlet to-night."

" Oh, pray, pray do !"

" !No, I intend to write all the evening,"

Mr. Curzon said one day cursorily to his
Avife — "' Was that Miss Sherwood I saw at
luncheon on Tuesday?"

" Yes."

" She has neither air nor manner. I
never saw such a plain woman — so dead-and-
ahve looking. I should fear her intelligence
is not very bright. I hope the school-room
business goes on properly ?"

" I suppose it does."

" Have you been up at all lately ?"

" No, I have not had time."

"Not had time, Adelaide?"

" No ; but if you have any doubts, you had
better examine the boys. You have my
leave to go to the school-room whenever you
please. I am not jealous. I am not a
Duchesse de Prashn, nor is Miss Sherwood
a De Luzy."

" Jealous 1" repeated Mr. Curzon, with a
sigh; ''no, Adelaide, you never knew
jealousy — nor love."

'' Then I have never given you an hour's
jealousy or uneasiness — more than can be
said of most wives. I hate sentiment ; no-
L 2

148 ANNE SHERWOOD.

thing tears the face to pieces so much as
Yv^hat the French call les passions. Go up-
stairs whenever you like."

" I will."

Mr. Curzon found time, two months later,
to inquire into the progress which his chil-
dren had made in their education. On en-
tering the school-room he slightly howled
his proud head. The governess rose and
returned the salutation, as slightly as she
could wdthout heing actually rude.

Mr. Curzon asked the question usually
addressed to governesses — " Have you walled
to-day ?'' Nobody thinks of saying any-
thing else to a governess. Sometimes the
sentence is uttered by way of encoui'age-
ment ; sometimes to denote condescension ;
and is always accompanied by a ''Dorit-he-
frigldened'' look. Perhaps the sentence in
question is chosen on the principle which
Chesterfield advocates, of leading people to
speak on the subject wdth which they are
most familiar, and which consequently they
can best discuss.

" The children have been in the Park,"
replied Annie, supposing that the question
xelated to them.

Mr. Curzon took up a grammar, and

ANNE SHERWOOD. 149

silently turned over tlie leaves. Tliougk
proud, lie was a kind-hearted man, and did
not want to frigliten the governess by a set
examination ; he thought he could make his
inquiries appear accidental. After a good
deal of unskilful manoeuvring, such as is
often displayed when one tries to do an ac-
cidental thing on purpose, Mr. Curzon suc-
ceeded in drawing forth some extremely un-
satisfactory replies to his questions. The
two younger boys were afraid of him, and
fear produced absurdly stupid answers.
Sydney was impatient for his father's ab-
sence, as he was longing for a wild game,
and his replies were worse than his brothers'.
A book of arithmetic lay on the table, so
intricately written, that it was a fitter study
for mathematicians than mere children.
With that usual discrimination shown by
people who have never taught in their lives,
Mr. Curzon pitched on the most difficult
problem he could find, and purposely cloth-
ing the statement of the question proposed,
in more bewildering phraseology than the
author of the book had used, he elicited such
an absurd solution from his son and heir
that he lost all patience, and exclaimed, —
" You are either a great blockhead, Sydney,

150 ANNE SHERWOOD.

or you liave been badly taught." Then
turning to the governess, who was looking
on with a very calm and unmoved coun-
tenance, he added, " Miss Sherwood, this
boy is shamefully backward for liis age ; you
must really get him on."

" His progress will chiefly depend on his
own abilities and industry," said the gover-
ness, coldly. " I neither boast of my skill nor
zeal ; my duty I shall honourably endeavour
to perform. Should I fail, after a reason-
able time, in producing the result you desire,
you will dismiss me, or I shall relinquish
my charge."

Mr. Curzon bit his lip, and looked with a
very surprised air at the bold speaker. Her
pale, quiet face was as unmoved as if it had
been cut in stone. He was astonished, very
much astonished ; he took a particular dis-
like to her ; but yet, though impressed wdth
the idea that she was a most disagreeable
woman, and that she had not made Crich-
tons of his sons, he went away with the
conviction that she was precisely the person
for her office.

" WeU, what result, Mr. Cui^zon?"

" Not a very satisfactory one, Lady Ade-
laide ; the boys know little enough."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 151

" I liate the bore," said Lady Adelaide ;
" but I will look out for another governess
if you like."

" By no means/' said Mr. Curzon ; "let
Miss Sherwood go on. A¥liat a very odd
person she is !"

'' Yery odd, indeed ; one can't call her
familiar ; nothing can be colder or more dis-
tant ; but she is provokingly independent."

" A very strange person — very strange,
indeed," resumed Mr. Curzon. " Do the boys
seem to like her ?"

" I think not ; they stand in aw^e of her,
however. Sydney, though, prefers her com-
pany to that of any one else ; she seems to
amuse him by reading and talking."

From that time forth, whenever Mr.
Curzon met Annie, which was very seldom,
he favoured her with the shadow of a bow, the
faintest of all inclinations of the head.
"Nothing seemed to live 'twixt it and
jiothing." But he never again asked her if

she had walked.

^ « * «

It was Sydney's eager voice on the stairs:
"Do, pray, come up ; I know you will like
her !"

" Probably ; but I can't go up," repHed a

152 ANNE SHERWOOD.

voice whicli, as it echoed up to lier lonely
room, reminded Annie of Sydney's de-
scription ; it was more musical than music.

"Then you're very disagreeable, Lord
Claude, and very ill-natured; and I hate you,
that I do."

" I am sorry for that, Sydney ; but you
know I am a resolute man."

"]N^ow, why wont you come up?" said
Sydney, changing to a coaxing tone.

" I have told you. I think Miss Sher-
wood would be displeased : I have no right
to intrude on her privacy."

" Displeased !" repeated Sydney ; " what
right has she to be displeased ? It is not her
house, nor her school-room. Mamma pays
her just as she does the housekeeper, or the
cook, or the butler, and they never show
any dignified airs. Come along, Lord Claude."

" No, Sydney, I will not."

" Why — why wont you ?"

"You cannot understand my reasons,
Sydney."

" "Well, but suppose Miss Sherwood were
to give leave ?"

" That might alter the case. I suppose
your governess is a lady, and she ought to
be treated with consideration."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 153

" I don't know about that," said Sydney ;
" we found our last to be a tailor's daughter."

" But Miss Sherwood, from your descrip-
tion, must be very different ?"

" Oh, yes ; quite different. Miss Smith
was stupid ; Miss Sherwood is the most en-
tertaining woman I ever met with in the
course of my life !"

" Indeed ! your experience of life must
have been immense, and your acquaintance
with ladies proportionably extensive !"

" You need not laugh at me, Lord Claude ;
I can tell you I'm not quite such a block-
head as papa thinks ; but I shall go and see
what she says."

Sydney burst into the school-room, ex-
claiming—

" Miss Sherwood, I am going to bring up
Lord Claude Douglas ! I told you I would.
You don't mind, do you ?"

" Not the least, as I am just going away !"
replied Annie, leaving the room by another
door at the moment she spoke.

" Provoking!" muttered Sydney, returning
to his friend. " Did you ever see anything
like this in your life ?"

" I have met with people of spirit, if that
is what you mean."

154 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Did you hear what she said ?"

" Yes, very well."

" Now, has she not a beautiful voice, even
when she says disagreeable things ?"

*' Her voice is beautiful."

" Oh, I do wish you could hear her read
Hamlet, or King Lear. It is beautiful, my
Lord; much finer than all the singing in
the drawing-room."

" You are very fond of Miss Sherwood,
Sydney ?"

" Tond of her ! Dear me, not at all; only
she amuses me !"

" She amuses you ?"

" Yes, to be sure ; but she's very ugly,
Lord Claude — very ugly, indeed ! I know
you would think her ugly. And yet, do
you know% I have seen her look handsome ;
yes, handsomer than mamma. It was when
she was reading Midsummer Niglifs Bream,
and there Avas a gleam like lightning playing
over her face."

" Sydney, you make me doubt whether
you are ten years old, or five-and-twenty."

" Never mind. Lord Claude, I shall be as
big as you some day. You will let me
ride with you to-day ?"

" Yes, if you are allowed."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 155

" What is your favourite liorse called ?"
" The Kniglit of Snowdon, Sydney."
"Ah, I know him," said Sydney; and
the boy began to recite with wonderful pre-
cision and propriety —

" Upon his brow," &c.

" Sydney, your intellect is growing ; I
hope your heart wdll keep pace with it in
growth," said Lord Claude. The boy was
silent, but his beautiful lip slightly curled
with something that seemed meant for scorn

156. ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XIY.

Lord Claude Douglas was the younger son
of the late Marquis of Dryburgh, and brother
of the actual representative of the mar-
quisate. His father, before coming to the
title, had made what the world calls a
mesalliance ; that is to say, he had married
an elegant, refined, and beautiful woman —
possessing, too, that nobler quality which
the wisest among men declared to have a
price above rubies, but who could not trace
her descent beyond four generations, and
whose only nobility was self-derived.

Of course it was a dreadful mesalliance ;
and after enjoying many years of happiness
(only interrupted by the clamours of inte-
rested relations), the romantic lover had
merged into the old married man, had en-
circled his brows with the hereditary coronet,
and discovered that he had made a very im-
prudent marriage ; moreover, the Marquis
of Dryburgh resolved that neither of his sons
should make a similar yjr/2/c2?/'«5.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 157

The beautiful Marcliioness was a Frencli-
woman; not one of the gay flutterers of
Paris and les Eaifcc, but a southern French-
woman, born and reared on the sunny coast
of the Mediterranean. She was a true child
of the soil, full of w^arm, generous passions,
and of that brilliant imagination which cha-
racterises those of Greek origin. She had
loved the stranger lord enthusiastically, re-
gardless of his wealth and position ; had he
been obscure and poor she would have loved
him just the same — she w^ould have followed
him just as readily, to the cold isle which
the sun lights so grudgingly — even to colder
regions.

When first Lady Dryburgh became aware
that her husband regretted the sacrifice lie
had made in marrying her, she did not re-
proach him, though every tender feeling of
her sensitive nature was wounded to the
quick. She only begged to be allowed to
visit her own beautiful shore, and amid the
familiar music of the southern weaves, to
await the birth of her second, perchance her
youngest-born son. She looked pale and
dejected. Her husband granted her request,
and bidding her farew^ell, as if they were
soon to meet again, suffered her to depart.

158 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Amid old familiar scenes and clierislied
memories, the beantifal but broken-hearted
woman brought forth her second son, and
called him by his father's name, Claude.
In writing to tell the Marquis of the event,
she added — " It is a sad pleasure to me to
think that my little Claude is born in his
mother's land, and will be a Frenchman.
Suffer him to be so, my Lord. If I am spared,
let me rear him in my native land ; let him
be taught to express love, joy, hope, and
fear in his mother's language, and with her
native accent. His eldest brother will re-
present your dignity in England; let me
have one son for a countryman. Think not
that I undervalue your country (that it is
such, is enough to make me love and vene-
rate it), but hearts beat not there with the
same warm, free pulse as in our sunny
climate.

" For myself, I shall be happier here than
in England. In the days of our early love
and happiness, my Lord, all places were alike
to me. Your smile made my heaven even
beneath a cloudy sky ; it would have made
my heaven amid the horrors of a Siberian
exile. But now — now that the world's pomps
and the world's pride have taught you to

ANNE SHERWOOD. 159

view the happy past as (at best) a folly, I
cannot live in the atmosphere of chilled affec-
tions. I have no reproaches in my heart,
Heaven is my mtness ; let me live on the
remembrance of the Paradise that once was
mine, and I will bless you still."

The Marqnis, now a thorough man of the
world and a busy politician, thought his
wife a sentimental fool thus to renounce a
brilliant position in England, but he ac-
ceded to her wishes without much difficulty.
The world was informed that the Mar-
chioness was obliged to live in the South,
on account of her delicate health. PoKtical
affairs retained the Marquis constantly in
England.

Years shpped away. When the period
arrived at which the education of the little
Claude must be thought of, the Marquis des-
patched an excellent tutor to take charge of
his son, conjointly with the Marchioness.
Claude acquired the language of his father's
country with the facihty usual in childhood.
When he had attained his twelfth year, his
mother gave liim her blessing and died, and
he was brought to England to join his
stranger father, with feelings that hovered
between interest, curiosity, and dismay, both

160 ANNE SHERWOOD.

with regard to the unknown parent and the
untried country.

The Marquis of Dry burgh soon discovered,
with pride and exultation, that his youngest
son had talents of a high order. Claude's
education had been skilfully conducted, and
he added to the charm of a vivid imagina-
tion, a particularly graceful facility of cloth-
ing his ideas in elegant and appropriate lan-
guage. His father conceived brilliant hopes
of his oratorical powers being one day suc-
cessfully displayed on the grandest arena
the world boasts, the British House of Com-
mons.

Lord Claude's talents were accordingly tobe
cultivated so as to fit him for coming distinc-
tion ; but the Marquis (who had run through
all finer feelings, as a spendthrift runs through
his estate in early youth) died of family
pride and a heart complaint, just before Lord
Claude left college, and, of course, before his
ambitious expectations could have a chance
of fulfilment. At the time of Lord Claude
Douglas's introduction to our readers, he had
entered his thirtieth year ; and so far from
having thrilled the senate with his eloquence,
his voice had never there been heard, nor
was he in the least degree distinguished in

ANNE SHERWOOD. 161

public life ; indeed lie liad made no attempt
to enter on its theatre.

He had spent years loitering amid the
fallen glories of Grreece and Italy — had
travelled into the East and learnt Araoic —
returned, and idly floated about the shores
of his native Mediterranean. Shortly after,
he had plunged into the depth of the High-
lands, and charmed with the romantic beauties
of the country, as well as Avitli the generous,
independent character of the mountaineers,
had suddenly remembered, that through his
father, he too belonged to the land of flood
and mountain, and was as true-hearted a
Scot as though he had talked Gaelic and
worn the philibeg all his life. Lord Claude
was good-looking and accomplished in the
best sense of the word ; a man of fashion,
too, without being a slave to the w^orld's
customs or vices. Wherever he came, he was

" The observed of all observers."
Generous to excess, frank, young in all
his feelings, he had the graceful abandon
of a polished Frenchman so finely mingled
with the dignity of a British nobleman that
society proclaimed him the most charming of
men.

Lord Claude had a passion for poetry, and

VOL. II. M

162 ANNE SHERWOOD.

read and recited witli sucli tlirilling effect
that lie could at pleasure produce tears and
smiles in liis auditory. His many years of
wandering had made him well acquainted
with the poetry of the lands he had traversed,
and he was as familiar with Dante as with
Shakspeare.

With all his advantages, natural and ac-
quired, he was not vain; and though a
Prenchman, and professedly a devotee of the
beautiful, Lord Claude not only remained un-
married, but had never been known to offer
any attentions approaching gallantry to the
beauties who distinguished him by their
favours. Some one told a story, or rather
hinted, that he had loved a young Greek
girl of exquisite beauty some years pre-
viously, and that the difference in their
social position had rendered his passion
unhappy ; but no one who witnessed the
brilliant animation which often ht Claude
Douglas's expressive face could beheve him
the victim of hopeless love. Still he remained
unwon, much to the grief of several gentle
hearts, and greatly to the disappointment of
a host of mothers and aunts, who had given
strict orders to their daughters to fall liead-
over-ears in love Avith Lord Claude, whose

ANNE SHERWOOD. 163

paternal uncle had left liim a brilliant for-
tune, which made him, in fact, a much
better match than his elder brother, who en-
joyed the title. The injunctions of mothers
and aunts were in some instances too faith-
fully obeyed. But in vain did dowagers
plan and beauties sigh. Lord Claude was
fastidious ; the w^oman who could win his
heart had not yet appeared, unless in the
brilliant sphere of his own sunny imagina-
tion. Therein he had depicted the lady of
his love, fairer than '' the one fair spirit"
the poet sighed for as his minister, endow^ed
with the genius of Corinne, the tenderness
of Lear's youngest daughter, and the pas-
sionate heart of Juliet, tempered by the in-
nocent modesty of " the most unfortunate of
ladies, who sucked the honied music" of
young Hamlet's vows.

Thus had Claude dreamed, and vainly had
he sought the realization of these dreams
among the aristocratic beauties who flitted
through the maze of fashion — as vainly had
he sought in other spheres for the incarna-
tion of his ideal. At thirty years of age,
though young as ever in heart and fancy,
he began to think that he would have been
wiser to study politics, as the end and aim

M 2

164 ANNE SHERWOOD.

of life, than to dream over the creations of
poets, painters, and sculptors, till they had
taught him to demand of actual life what
actual life could never give — the impossible.
Still Claude Douglas was of too bright and
joyous a nature to rank among the disap-
pointed, and wherever he came he seemed to
bring with him " nods, and becks, and
wreathed smiles," and to create an atmo-
sphere of joy, which he could instantly, as
if by magic, change to the most serious in-
terest, by a quotation, given with the pathos
of one who feels in his inmost soul the beau-
tiful thought, which he pronounces in the
most moving and exquisite of voices.

Every one loved or admired Claude Dou-
glas, and his friends were such who would
have continued so still, had he been shorn of
all his worldly advantages. His servants
adored a master w^hose commands were issued
in the gentle tone of requests, and who
watched faithfully over the welfare of his
humblest'foUower.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 165

CHAPTEE XV.

It must not be supposed that Annie had
lost sight of her friends all this time. She
was still enjoying the benefit of the amiable
Julie's lessons — still occasionally receiving a
visit from Bertha ; and when released from
her rather strict confinement at Mr. Curzon's,
she took the opportunity of going to see
Mrs. Harrington. Those visits, however,
became fewer, and farther between.

It happened one day that she met Mr.
Harrington. At first haughty and repulsive
(in remembering her position), he gradually
became attracted and interested by her con-
versation ; and as he was a man without any
refinement of feeling, he showed the pleasure
he felt in her society by such marked at-
tentions, that Annie was rather ofiended
than gratified.

Mrs. Harrington grew uneasy, and Annie
read her thoughts. " This will not happen
again," said she, mentally ; " he is so seldom
home, I am not likely to meet him for a long

166 ANNE SHERWOOD.

time, and if I slionld, to-niglit's wliim will
be forgotten." But it was not so. On her
next visit Bertlia told her that Mr. Harring-
ton had been much more at home lately ;
and Annie was chagrined to hear him say, —

" Are you going to stay, Miss Sherwood ?
If you are, I shall not go out."

" No," replied Annie, quickly, " I must

return to Gr Square almost directly ; my

pupils will expect me ; a governess must be
at her post." She spoke thus, intending to
recall to Mr. Harrington's mind that she
was only his wife's very humble acquain-
tance— an acquaintance in fact, with whose
vulgarity he had once reproached her.

"I will set you down at Mr. Curzon's,"
said Mr. Harrington.

" Impossible ; thank you," repHed Annie,
with an instinctive feeling that she would
rather not look at Mrs. Harrington ; " it
would he as much as my place is toorth to re-
turn under the escort of a gentleman. Be-
sides, Mr. Harrington, a person holding your
position in society, could not be seen with a
mere governess without losing caste !" So say-
ing, she hurried off, scarcely waiting to pay a
hurried adieu to Mrs. Harrington, who faintly
expressed a hope that she would come again.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 167

" Ah ! pray do," said Mr. Harrington ;
*' if I did not dread your reproof I should
quote Jessica's words, — ' Our house is — '
You know the rest ; but truly, your lively
presence brings a sunshine to these dim,
melancholy walls to which they are little
accustomed."

" A very charming woman," repeated Mr.
Harrington, after having gallantly attended
Annie down stairs. "A very charming
woman. I wish you would have her with
you often. Carry. Far too good for her
trade. A pity to see a woman like that de-
graded to such low drudgery ! By the way.
Carry, why didn't you take her yourself?
But I suppose it was your jealousy."

Mrs. Harrington made no reply but the
long deep-drawn sigh of the broken-hearted.
She did not remind her husband (as many a
wife so circumstanced would have done) of
his coarse attack on her for her intimacy
with the very woman he now thought so
charming. Perhaps he would have been
startled if his own words had been repeated
to him. " Beally good-looking, too !" he
continued, after a slight pause, " though it
does not strike one at first. Fine eyes !
magnificent hair ! The only little woman I

168 ANNE SHERWOOD.

ever saw w^lio could look dignified. You
must ask her next week, Carry."

Mrs. Harrington obeyed. She was in
the habit of obeying; but she found that
Annie had as many engagements as a lady
of the highest fashion, and could not spare a
single evening.

The letters of Ellen formed the great
charm of Annie's existence ; they brought
sunshine to her gloomiest minutes. Not only
did they tell of the young wife's happiness,
but they breathed such a spirit of undi-
minished sisterly affection, and such assur-
ances of brotherly good-will from Eichard,
that Annie felt she had a haven of rest in
their pleasant home, wdienever she felt the
world's rough edges too harshly. Not that
she contemplated flying to that refuge ; but
still it was pleasant to know that such existed
for her, and that she was not quite alone in
a cold unfeeling world.

Annie's pupils continued to progress.
Sydney, whose intelligence was rare, es-
pecially repaid the care bestoAved on his
mental cultivation ; his mind was made to
appreciate Annie's, though his heart could
not understand her heart. It was a source
of great grief to her, that the young creatures

ANNE SHERWOOD. 169

with whom she was so intimately associated —
taking, indeed, their mother's place to them
— were drawn no nearer towards her after the
lapse of months, than w^hen she had come
among them as a stranger. Their worldly
parents she had almost ceased to notice ; but
the heartless system on which they acted
had the most unfortunate effect on her. The
chilling atmosphere in which she lived seemed
to have encrusted her so completely, that
though she never gave way to anger or im-
patience, and sedulously discharged her
duties, she had grown as cold, and appa-
rently as heartless, as those around her. One
kindly word or look would have dissolved
the spell ; but who was there in that grand,
stately mansion to ofier either to the lonely
governess ?

Once or twice Annie met Dr. Sinclair.
He made many kind inquiries after her
welfare, and seemed anxious to know how
she was situated.

" I have no right to complain," Annie
answered. " My salary is regularly paid ;
no one interferes with me ; my pupils im-
prove, and I have taught them to respect
and obey me."

"All that may be," said the Doctor,

170 ANNE SHERWOOD.

shaking his head, " but you are not happy —
you know you're not. Tour face tells more
truth than your lips. You're in bad health,
too."

" Indeed I am perfectly well."

" You are nothing of the kind. I'll tell
you what you must do, if you've taken such
a fancy to those amiable people that you
can't live without them."

" What must I do ?" asked Annie, who
was highly amused at her supposed attach-
ment to the Curzons.

" Make Madam Juno give -you a holiday,
and go down to the Stancliifs. You have
been with that angel a year?"

"Nearly."

" Then of course you must have a holiday."

" I win see about it."

" See about it ! Nonsense ! If you don't
directly demand time for a rest, I shall call
on Lady Adelaide and order country air for
you. What would you say to that?"

" I fear your powers would fail. I know
of nothing that would influence Lady Ade-
laide (if she did not choose to be influenced)
short of a command from the throne itself.
She has a particular dislike to the routine of
her liousehold being interrupted ; otherwise.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 171

I tHnk slie would long ago have replaced
me. I am too independent to be a favourite.
I don't think she will give me any holidays.
But if you think it reaUy necessary that I
should have a rest, I shaU of course ask for
a little time. I do long to see Ellen and
her baby."

"What baby?"

" Did I not tell you I was an aunt ?" ex-
claimed Annie, with such proud delight,
that she seemed to think no one had ever
been so distinguished before, and that aunt-
hood was a very good thing. With all the
worldliness she was daily acquiring, Annie
sometimes showed a trait of simplicity which
did honour to her early training.

There then followed a great many half-
muttered exclamations from the Doctor
about poor parsons, and large families, and
the imprudence of early marriages, &c.,
while all the while he was mentally revolv-
ing the expediency of sending the new-
comer a little token of his good-will. Of
course the infant prodigy would appreciate
the said little token, and it would assist the
young parents to meet the additional ex-
pense entailed on them by the consumer of
pap. " Eemember," said the Doctor, as he

172 ANNE SHERWOOD.

bid Annie good-bye, " you'll get a holiday,
or I sball for you!" and he rushed away, de-
livering to himself his opinion of Annie Sher-
wood (as often as he had already informed
himself on the subject), as well as that which
he supposed her to entertain of him. And
while he thus thought aloud, Annie went on
her way with a brighter face, pondering w^hat
a pleasant world this would be, if it held a
great many golden hearts like the dear old
Doctor's, or even a sprinkhng of them.

Pursuant to Dr. Sinclair's advice, Annie
requested an interview with Lady Adelaide,
and stated her wish to have a holiday. " I
cannot spare you," was the curt reply. But
Annie, wdio had now thoroughly persuaded
herself that she must see her sister, and her
sister's prodigy, persevered in her demand,
and, being full of the home topic, forgot
herself so far as to speak pleadingly on the
subject, and even momentarily to expose her
feelings before the proud lady, talking ear-
nestly of the love that bound Ellen and her-
self together, and of her anxious wish to look
on the face of Ellen's first-bom. In the
midst of her eloquent appeal, Annie looked
up at the beautiful Lady Adelaide, and saw
a smile of scorn on her lips. An angry

ANNE SHERWOOD. 173

flush passed over tlie pale face of the
speaker, that she should thus have displayed
her most sacred feehngs to a worldlmg.

" I tell you it is impossible, Miss Sher-
wood," said Lady Adelaide ; " in a fortnight
we leave London for the Continent."

Annie started.

" Leave London !" she repeated ; " leave
England without seeing my sister ! Oh no !
I cannot do that — indeed I cannot."

" As you please," said her ladyship. " I
suppose that, however valuable Miss Sher-
wood's services may be, on an emergency
she could be replaced." And she turned
away, to preclude any further conversation.

Annie retired to ponder over her situation.
She felt inclined to leave the Curzons imme-
diately; and while she was debating the
point, she was joined by Sydney.

" Do you know that we are going abroad,
Miss Sherwood?"

" I hear that you are going, Sydney."

" And you, too ; of course we shall take
you."

" But I am not sure that I shall agree to
be taken."

" Not agree to be taken ! You can't mean
that? To leave us would be quite against

174 ANNE SHERWOOD.

your own interests ; I am sure it w^ould. I
wouldn't consent to go without you,"

" All, Sydney/' said Annie, witli an un-
wonted display of feeling, "if I thought
that real aifection made you so speak, it
w^ould reconcile me to much that is now
painful."

" What a funny woman you are ! Do you
think, when I go to see Eranconi's troupe,
that I have any ' real affection ' for the
horses or riders? Certainly not; and yet
they delight me. When mamma takes me
to a play, I have no ' real affection ' for the
actors ; but I can't bear not to see them.
Now, I reckon you like one of the actors ; I
could do wdthout any one better than you.
You must not think of leaving us — indeed
you must not. I think j^ou'd like to go
abroad. Perhaps we shall go to Paris.
You have never seen Paris ; it will give you
new ideas. I know you will go. The only
thing that worries me is about Lord Claude ;
I don't like to leave him."

" You love Lord Claude, I think ?"

" Love him ! Well, I don't know^ ; I'm
not sure ; he's a sort of hero to me, cer-
tainly. It was a great shame in you to stoj)
my reading Carlyle's IIe?v Wbrskip."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 175

" You are too young for such a book."

" Miss Sherwood 1" exclaimed the boy,

suddenly changing the subject, " mamma

can't bear Lord Claude ; do you know why ?"

" No ; and I don't wish to hear."

" I think it is because he does not flatter

her. All the other gentlemen tell her how

beautiful she is, but he never does. Papa

likes him though, very much. I only wish

Lord Dryburgh would die — that I do, and

then Lord Claude would be a Marquis ; and

then " But here Sydney perceived that

he had lost his listener, for Annie was buried
in the contents of a letter, so he turned away
with an impatient exclamation.

In the evening, Miss Dobson came into
the school-room. She more frequently spent
her evenings in the housekeeper's room — in-
deed, whenever she could slip into those
favourite precincts without being observed.
Miss Dobson was the spy of the house, as
well as the toad-eater of its mistress ; and it
was on secret service that she approached
the governess, whose conversation was to her
peculiarly distasteful. She never willingly
read anything. Lady Adelaide had increased
her dislike to books, by imposing on her the
task of reading aloud, not in moderation, but

176 ANNE SHERWOOD.

many hours daily. She was a woman of the
most narrow and uncultivated mind, and had
no solace but fancy work.

Annie had a particular dislike to Miss
Dobson, on account of her mean, parasitical
character, but she pitied her. Indeed no one,
however much they might despise her mean-
ness, could help compassionating that poor,
friendless dependent, who earned her bread
by the hardest bondage ever imposed on
humanity, or accepted by it — a bondage
cemented by deceit and treachery.

Wlien Miss Dobson visited Annie, it was
to glean all she could, to carry to Lady Ade-
laide. She never told Annie anything ; she
was as prudent as Horace Walpole's man in
the desert island, who, having one solitary
companion, never confided anything to him
but " how the wind blew, and that in a
whisper, lest the wind should overhear."
Miss Dobson had been desired by Lady
Adelaide to learn (without seeming to in-
quire) whether Miss Sherwood meant to
leave. Lady Adelaide w^as particular^
anxious to retain Annie, feeling assured
that she would find it difficult to secure a
governess combining all the necessary quali-
fications with retired habits and a plain

ANNE SHERWOOD. 177

person. Besides, lier ladyship felt little
inclined to fatigue herself with the exami-
nation of fresh candidates for the appoint-
ment.

Miss Dobson cautiously opened the busi-
ness she had in hand. " I don't know whether
you are aware that we are going abroad, Miss
Sherwood."

" I have been told so," replied Annie.

"We shall be very gay in Paris," con-
tinued Miss Dobson. " It will make a great
difference to you and me. Not that I
am fond of pleasure, but at our age, it is
natural to desire a little." (There was only
a difference of twenty years between Miss
Dobson and Annie Sherwood.) "Ah! yes,
^ve shall be very gay in Paris."

" I am not sure I shall go," said Annie.

"Not go ! Surely you would not relinquish
the advantages you possess, in such a family
as Lady Adelaide's !"

" I really do think I could dare as much."

" But what objection could you possibly
have to going abroad ?"

" None in the world. I am anxious to see
Prance. I only object to leaving England
without bidding my sister good-bye."

" Oh ! if that is aU, I really think I could

A^OL. II. N

178 ANNE SHERWOOD.

make interest with Lady Adelaide — ^yes, I'm
sure I could."

" What to do?" asked Annie.

" To allow you to put some one in your
place for a week (of course, as the projjosal
would come from you, you must hear the expense),
and that would give you time for your little
trip into the country, and enable you to ac-
company us."

Miss Dobson always said " us," w^hen Lady
Adelaide was not in the way to hear.

" Your suggestion is very good, Miss Dob-
son," said Annie (who knew all the time
that it was Lady Adelaide's) ; " I shall act
upon it."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 179

CHAPTEE XVI.

In mid-winter, the Curzon family were lo-
cated, not in tlie most cliarming of all
cities, Paris, but its miniature, tlie elegant,
aspiring, ambitious, theatrical capital of
Belgium. The beautiful little city puts
forth all its fascinations, great and small, to
cheat one into the belief that they are in
France — ^l^right, sunny France —

" Gay, sportive land of mirtli and social ease,
Pleased with thyself, who all the world can please."

Annie Sherwood was internally sadly dis-
appointed ' to have lost the sight of Paris ;
but of course she kept her disappointment
quite to herself — it could be of no moment
to any one else. Lady Adelaide was in a
condescending humour, and informed Annie
that Brussels was really very like Paris,
only smaller. Annie looked without, and
thought that Paris was then very insigni-
ficant.

The Curzons had put up at the Hotel de
N 2

180 ANKE SHERWOOD.

L' , immediately adjoining the royal re-
sidence. The Palace is nnimposing ; its
plain, unadorned, and uniform frontage
giving one an idea of an office for the trans-
action of business — a post-office, for instance
— or a Corn-Exchange, or any place in which
a great many accounts would be cast up, and
a great deal of money received. Probably,
how^ever, neither ever occurred to an alarm-
ing extent in the royal dwelling of Leopold
the First, by the nation's good will. King of
the Belgians.

Opposite to the Hotel de L' was the

comparatively small enclosure denominated
the Park, with its avenues of leafless trees,
its little fountain, with a little ice at the
bottom, and here and there a bundle of
straw, standing (as sailors would say) on its
beam-ends. Strangers were told* that the
aforesaid bundles of straw^ eclipsed the glory
of some exquisite statues. If the strangers
had faith as a grain of sand, they believed
what was told them ; if not, they persisted in
thinking that the straw-bundles were straw-
bundles, and nothing more.

Every one who knows Brussels (and that
is every one who is any one) knows, too,
what a dismal impression is made on the

ANNE SHERWOOD. 181

stranger wlio arrives there in December,
when the sky and atmosphere rival the far-
famed murky reputation borne by those of
England. Yes, he will remember it well,
especially if he has been cheated into the
behef that he w^as coming to another Paris !
Paris could never look dull and melancholy,
if it tried ever so hard — how should it ?

Our soHtary heroine thought — but no
matter what she thought! — she was very
sad, after the happiest month she had ever
known in her life — a month spent as if in
Paradise ! — and bright, sunny faces were still
flitting before her eyes — sweet, loving voices
still murmuring in her ears, but only like
dreams — she could not realize them. She
took up a book — the only one she had un-
packed— but the type seemed upside down.
She closed the volume and looked round the
lonely Httle room, as if for some one to talk
to. Then Annie took a pencil, and wrote
some very bad verses on the back of an old
letter, finally burst into tears, and cried, till
she looked much plainer than nature had
made her. Foolish girl ! she had never
learnt crochet !

For " want of other idleness," Annie in-
vested two whole francs (a great sum to

182 ANNE SHERWOOD.

lier) ill tlie purchase of tlie nuicli-reviled,
but invariably jDatronized article — a guide-
book. From that she learnt that a great
deal more was to be seen in Brussels than
the mimic fountain, the straw-bundles, &c.,
and she actually made some silly speech at
luncheon, about liking to see interesting lo-
calities. Lady Adelaide quickly put these
ambitious views to flight, by giving her to
understand that a passion for sight-seeing
w^as indicative of a low origin. Of course
nothing more was said on the subject. Lady
Adelaide had pronounced quite enough to
convince any right-minded person that see-
ing old cathedrals, &c., was quite a plebeian
proceeding ; but then, Annie Sherwood w^as
not right-minded. Miss Dobson was of
course more open to the reception of proper
impressions. She did not wish to see any-
thing like " those nasty, cold, grey, old
places, only fit for bats to live in ; it gave
her cold to look at the outside of them
only !"

Strange things were taking place in the
Curzon family. Mr. Curzon was making
another attempt to become more domes-
ticated. The House w^as not in session; the
clubs were deserted, the town empty.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 183

Moreover, lie had by some means lately
outrun his income ; he must retrench for a
year or two — abroad, of course : great people
can't retrench at home ; they never attempt
it. Little debtors and Httle spendthrifts
flock to Boulogne ; great defaulters and
ruined men choose Brussels. The first class
lose their characters, the second are only
men of fashion. To be in debt a few hun-
dreds, shows shocking depravity; to owe
sixty or eighty thousand pounds, is to evince
high breeding. The two sets of debtors,
however, must never be compared : such a
comparison is as odious as one between
Dick Turpin and Napoleon, the Eobber and
Alexander.

Mr. Curzon was trying in earnest to cul-
tivate liis family. Once more he condescended
to examine into the progress of school-room
affairs, was satisfied, and expressed his satis-
faction in as gracious a speech as he could
frame his aristocratic lips to utter. The
governess did not seem as overwhelmed with
the honour and favour of his approval as a
right-minded person ought to have been ;
and while resolving to continue to use her
services as a very useful drudge, Mr. Curzon
applauded his own discernment in having

184 ANNE SHERWOOD.

long ago discovered Miss Sherwood to be a
very disagreeable person indeed.

Mr. Curzon, though a " member of the
late Ministry/' and though " an able speaker
in the House/' had some of the weaknesses
of humanity, in common with less distin-
guished individuals : he was a vain man.
Eminently handsome, he was quite aware of
his personal advantages, and rather resented
the fact that one of his pretensions, mental
and personal, should converse for ten minutes
with a female dependent, without her evinc-
ing the least pleasure in his society. And
Miss Sherwood plainly showed by her coun-
tenance, however much she might endeavour
to suppress the evidence in her manner, that
she would feel immensely reHeved by the
distinguished Mr. Curzon finishing his pa-
tronizing harangue and withdrawing from
her presence.

After a month or two, Mr. Curzon and
Lady Adelaide selected a handsome house

in the Eue Du , which, though not

quite so outwardly splendid as they could
have wished, was inwardly decorated with
art, which only wanted solidity, to merit the
name of magnificence.

About the same time, the severity of the

ANNE SHERWOOD. 185 \

]

winter became great. The ground was ■

white with frost and snow, the mists were ■

dispersed, and the Brussels world of fashion
rushed with enthusiasm to the delightful
diversion of sledging.

186 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XVII.

Merry musical little bells those were, tink-
ling through the frosty air, as the jaunty
sledges, gaily painted and gilded, glided
smoothly and swiftly along. AU the horses
looked so spirited and proud, tossing their
heads high, and displaying the strings of
silver bells wdth wdiich their necks w^ere
adorned. They wore the daintiest harness
that could he devised, and some of them
crimson or blue trappings, that floated in
the air something in the guise of the scarfs
wherewith, in the olden times, ladies were
accustomed to deck their favourite knights.

The exquisites in the sledges were trying
hard, very hard, to look like Trenchmen ;
but fruitlessly; fashionable as was their array,
there was still wanting that nameless some-
thing in their tournure which makes the
high-bred Frenchman " the glass of fashion,"
even as the aristocratic Englishman is the
" mould of form."

It was a rarely bright, even a sunny day,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 187

thougli the cold v/as intense, and the whole
line of the Boulevard was a sheet of dazzling
snow. Annie Sherwood and her three pupils
were walking on the broad path allotted to
pedestrians. It was Sydney's good pleasure
to see the show, otherwise Annie would have
chosen a more retired spot.

Sledge after sledge passed by, each one
more elaborately elegant than its predecessor.
The promenade was crowded with admiring
and admired ladies. All the Beiges are
little ; but they are generally good-looking.
They have regular feat ares, while ever and
anon the recurrence of a deep, dark eye, and
shining curls of jet, reminds one that Spanish
blood has mingled wdth theirs. There is,
how^ever, a hea^dness in the Beige coun-
tenance, of wdiich they are doubtless con-
scious, vdien they affect Gallic vivacity.

Eastern w^omen are said to carry their
fortunes on their persons ; and even so —
though she binds no string of coins (destined
to become her dowry) among the braids of
her hair — the Belgian beauty appears to
invest a large part of her fortune in her
toilette. It is literally sumptuous. She
wears the richest furs and velvets, &c. ;
while even for the promenade, her robe is

188 A^NE SHERWOOD.

elaborately trimmed with lace flounces of the
most costly make ; and her head adorned
with the richest white satin bonnet, bearing
a plumage of dazzling purity — this, even in
winter !

The Beiges are magnificent in dress,
horses, equipages, and everything which
belongs to public life. In the home -circle
they are sparing even to parsimony, that
their narrow incomes may be enabled to
meet the expense of their outward luxury.

Every eye is turned towards the carriage-
road. Some person of distinction approaches.
The Eoyal Family ? No ; a Princess of
Spain, with her husband and fair children.
A Princess who has stooped from the
2nestige of royal splendour to unite herself to
one who had nothing to offer in exchange
for the sacrifice, but a heart. The Princess
is not beautiful, but the romance of her
history creates an interest in her, which is
deeply but silently felt.

Not far behind the Infanta's sledge came
one of peculiar elegance ; the front ter-
minated with the head and antlers of a
beautiful deer, while its skin served as an
apron. The occupant of the sledge was
wrapt in a rich fur coat, a black velvet cap

ANNE SHERWOOD. 189

surmoimted his liandsome, animated face,
and the mass of hterally raven hair that fell
round it. How heantiful that face was (and
yet not regularly handsome), with its broad,
proud brow, its finely-arched jetty eyebrows,
and its large, lustrous, dark eyes, which said
a thousand things — expressed every varied
shade of meaning. The rest of the face was
not remarkable ; it was dark, but very pale,
and contrasted with the little black silky
moustache which shaded the upper lip, with-
out concealing the row of ivory teeth beneath.
" TJn Anglais !" said some one — for every eye
was attracted to the sledge-driver. "ISTon,
non, c'est un rran9ais, je vous dis," replied
another. " II est militaire !"

The object of discussion suddenly leapt
from the sledge, confiding his spirited, coal-
black horse (whose neck was adorned with
the daintiest ring of Spanish bells) to a
servant, and eagerly advanced towards the
promenaders. He was very tall, and had a
mingled air of dignity and fashion. His figure
looked like that of a man of thirty, while his
bright, animated face made him appear con-
siderably younger. " Lord Claude ! Lord
Claude !" exclaimed Sydney, impetuously
rushing to meet him. " Miss Sherwood,

190 ANNE SHERWOOD.

this is Lord Claude !" lie cried, turning his
head over his shoulder.

Annie stood still to await the boy's return.
Sydney came back with his friend, who,
taking off his cap with easy grace, bowed to
Annie, as if he considered the boy's exclama-
tion a sort of introduction. He did not
speak to her, however.

The boys, delighted to meet Lord Claude,
who was a great favourite with them, began
aU together to question him as to the cause
of their unexpected meeting. He tried to
satisfy them, but some minutes elapsed ere
their vociferous questioning permitted them
to understand the explanation given. " But,
my dear boys, you must not keep Miss
Sherwood standing in the cold !" said Lord
Claude.

" Oh, never mind !" exclaimed Sydney ;
" she doesn't mind it at all ! do you, Miss
Sherwood ?"

" Yes ; I mind it very much 1" said Annie,
though the tone in which she spoke rather
contradicted her words.

" I shah soon caU, Sydney," said Lord
Claude ; then, once more bowing with an air
of respectful gravity to Annie, he returned
to his sledge.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 191

" He bowed to you. Miss Sherwood ! How
strange !" said Sydney. " Did you see that
Lord Claude bowed to you, tliouyli he knows
you're a governess /"

Annie made no reply. She was deep
in a fanciful reverie; such as, perchance,
Miranda might have indulged in when she
saw Ferdinand, than whom

" Slie did not wish to see a goodlier man."

It should not be reckoned as one of the
grievances, but it is certainly one of the griefs
of governess life, that the recluse existence
to which the class are condemned, renders
them peculiarly susceptible of romantic in-
fluence, and weaves for them many an airy
dream which a httle intercourse with the
world would dispel. And perhaps our gover-
ness-heroine may be excused, if, in her many
lonely hours, uncheered by the sympathy of a
friend, and even unenlivened by the society
of a common acquaintance, she thought
oft and again of the distinguished-looking
man, whose mental refinement and generous
character were unmistakeably portrayed on
one of the most charming countenances that
nature ever produced. Perhaps she may be
pardoned, too, if her dreams were of sledging,
and of one sledge in particular, guided with

192 ANNE SHERWOOD.

peculiar dexterity and grace ; and if a voice
(which she had only heard uttering most
common-place expressions) rang through her
ears, even in sleejD making sweet music ! Poor,
foolish Annie, to forget that she was a gover-
ness ! — a governess, and twenty-five years
of age ! Yes, Annie Sherwood had reached
the mature age of twenty-five, and had, till
that period of life, escaped all the foolish
entanglements of unmeaning love affairs ;
but for that very reason, she was the more
capable of romantic passion, when the
" Oue bright particular star "

appeared, who answered to her beau-ideal ;
and so it happened, that Annie dreamt more,
da}^ and night, of the sledge-driver, than
reason approved. Her dreams must have
been very pleasant, for they lit her face
with such radiance that she looked quite
charming; and they did yet worse, they
lent such animation to her manner, that
Lady Adelaide began to fear (after a few
hints from Dobson) that the governess was
becoming too familiar, and for that reason,
and another of yet greater importance, she
contemplated doing away with the one-
o'clock dinner down stairs, and making the
school-room party confine themselves en-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 193

tirely to their own precincts. To tliis plan,
unfortunately, Mr. Curzon objected. He
liad at length made the acquaintance of his
children : he was stru.ck with Sydney's un-
usually early-developed talents, was proud
of him, and amused with the prattle of the
younger ones. ISlo ; they were not again to
be exiled to the school-room. He did not
like quite to add, " Miss Sherwood might
dine up-stairs," though he would' not have
been at all displeased had it been so arranged.
Lady Adelaide did not meet with all the
homage she expected in B , and conse-
quently began to experience ennui.

Incapable of any mental exertion herself,
she would now, in her liom's of weariness,
have permitted the despised governess to
amuse her ; but then she might presume on
the condescension and become familiar ; and
beside, if alloAved to come into the drawing-
room wdien her patroness was alone, she
might have the temerity to expect the same
indulgence on other occasions !

Lady Adelaide formed the acquaintance
of a literary lady, with whom she became very
intimate. The literary lad}^ looked (I do not
say she was) about fifty. She bore a strong
resemblance to a speckled hen. She had

VOL. II. 0

194 ANNE SHERWOOD.

written two or three books, and talked a
great deal about picture-galleries, and the
styles of different masters (she had certainly
never read Peregrine TicUe), and, estimating
herself very higlily, was fortunate enough
to succeed in making a number of her friends
and acquaintances accept the dogma of her
being a very talented woman, without their
taking any trouble to inquire into the
matter for themselves. Au reste, Mrs.
Bluington was amiable, and met Lady
Adelaide's advances to intimacy with a very
just estimate of her ladyship's position and
pretensions, and with a most unfeigned ad-
miration for the handsome and aristocratic
Mr. Curzon ; of course, Mrs. Bluington was
a favourite Avith both.

Lady Adelaide was averse to exertion, and
seldom visited her friend, but the literary
lady constantly came to see her.

Mrs. Bluington had one w^eakness or
peculiarity, excessive timidity ! Though she
had had the courage to rush into print, the
courage to stand a broadside from the
Quarterly, she was too young and timid to
venture out alone ! When she came to spend
several hours with Lady Adelaide (which
ishe often did in the long mornings), Mr.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 195

Bluington brought lier to the Eue Ducale :
he called for her again at the expiration of
her visit. Did anything prevent her hus-
band's attendance, Mrs. Bluington was
placed in the most painful dilemma. If Mr.
Curzon were in the way, his escort of course
was obtainable ; if not, the duty of con-
ducting the timid lady home, devolved on
Lady Adelaide's governess. At first Annie
Sherwood felt indignant, and disposed to
rebel against the absurd demand that she
should chaperon a woman who might well
have been her mother ; but then ihe ludi-
crous thought of protecting those elderly
and doubtful charms so irresistibly amused
her fancy, that she grew accustomed to the
jest, and found her charge really good-natured
and pleasant, when for a short time she con-
sented to step from the pedestal on w^hich
imaginary Hterary distinction had placed her.

On one of the duenna walks, Annie met
Mr. Curzon as she was returning.

"You have been re-conducting Mrs.
Bluington, I suppose. Miss Sherwood ?" said
he, graciously.

"I have, Mr. Curzon," replied Annie,
with an arch smile ; " but if I am to con-
tinue my office of duenna, I hope you will
o 2

196 ANNE SHERWOOD.

appoint some responsible person to bring
me home wben my duty is performed?"

" Take one of the boys," said Mr. Curzon,
who, for the first time, was really struck with
the ludicrous farce so frequently enacted ;
and he too, would have smiled, but for the
impropriety of being seen in familiar con-
versation with his dependent; — slightly
nodding, he passed on.

Annie, rather ruffled by Mr. Curzon's
manner, passed on too ; and it so hap-
pened that she met the handsome sledge-
driver who had been so much in her foolish
thoughts lately. He was walking by the
side of a beautiful girl, whose appearance
denoted rank and w^ealth ; but he took off
his hat to Annie as he passed, and she, be-
tween confusion and pleased surprise that
he should remember her at all, walked on
hastily without returning the salutation, and
thought that Sydney was not far wrong in
his estimation of Lord Claude when he said,
" I make him my hero."

And yet Claude Douglas had not the fault-
less beauty of the Mros de roman. He pos-
sessed neither a Eoman nose nor a Grecian
outline ; but the charm of his face w^as that
which the boy had described — those eyes, like

AISNE SHERWOOD. 197

jewels, tlirougli which a soul shone. Un-
mistakeable nobility was to be traced in every
line of his face, in every motion of his
elegant figure, even in the high-bred hand,
which, like those of Sue's hero, might have
made a woman jealous. But the most ad-
mirable point in Claude Douglas, was that
apparent absence of self-consciousness : he
always seemed pleased and occupied with
those around him, always as if forgetful of
his own existence. The influence which he
unconsciously acquired, and almost as un-
consciously exercised, among his friends and
acquaintance, had not made him vain ; he
was too proud for the littleness of vanity.

198 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XVIII.

In the spring of the year, Mr. Curzon,
leaving his family in Brussels (requesting
his friend, Lord Claude Douglas, to take a
general care of them, and to give his escort
and protection to Lady Adelaide whenever
required), departed for England, to watch
over his own interests in a forthcoming
general election. It appeared to him, how-
ever, a mere matter of form. He had repre-
sented B for many years, and had not

the least doubt of being unanimously re-
turned for his accustomed seat. The pos-
sibility of a contested election never occurred

to him ; and when, on his arrival in B ,

he found that a Liberal candidate w^as already
in the field, his aristocratic surprise was very
considerable. His astonishment increased
prodigiously when his former constituents,
coming to the conclusion that his Toryism
ran too high for the nineteenth century,
actually returned his opponent ! In a
paroxysm of mortified vanity and patrician

ANNE SHERWOOD. 199

disdain, Mr. Cnrzon cut the contumacious
borough for ever, and rushed from the shores
of his ungrateful country. Cahuly (as he
thought) reviewing his past career, it struck
him that he had been a most disinterested
patriot, from the first day of his sitting in
ParHament ; that no personal considerations
had ever influenced his conduct, and that
the interests of B had constantly pre-
occupied his mind, even to the exclusion
of family affairs and domestic affections.
Finally, Mr. Curzon determined to thrust
the matter from his mind, and consequently
thought of little else.

" Ell songeaut qu'il faut oublier, en s'en souvient."

Alas ! such was the case with the disap-
pointed patriot. On his return to Brussels,
Mr. Curzon was rather shy of English
society for a short time ; hut at length,
finding he was likely to he consumed by
ennid, he gathered round him a circle of
men as well born, but much poorer, than
himself ; of whom, if the equal in one sense,
he became the patron in another, — they never
contradicted Mr. Curzon !

Almost the only exception to this rule,
was Lord Claude Douglas ; who, having no
motive for being parasitical, and being too

200 ANNE SHERWOOD.

proud to be so if lie liad liad a motive, often
argued with. Mr. Curzon certain points on
wMcli they disagreed.

It happened one day, at a dinner-party at
Mr. Curzon's, that the two gentlemen were
at issue on a certain point of great political
interest. The discussion became animated.
Something inspired Mr. Curzon w^ith the
desire to quote himself. He wished to bring
forward a passage from some speech he had
made in the previous session, but his memory
proved treacherous.

It was dessert-time ; the boys were present.
Sydney listened to the conversation, with the
interest of one who knew that in coming
years, his A^oice would probably be heard
in the Senate. He remembered the in-
terest that Miss Sherwood took in politics.
He remembered, too, that she possessed a
remarkably tenacious memory ; and he
thought it just possible that she might have
read and remembered the speech to which
his father referred. He slipped out of the
door, and flying up to the school-room, re-
called the subject to her recollection, and
asked if she could give the required clue.

" Yes," said Annie, and very soon pro-
duced from her desk the very identical speech

ANNE SHERWOOD. 201

of Mr. Curzon's, cut from the columns of a
newspaper.

Sydney flew off, and triumphantly pro-
duced the slip of paper at the dinner-table.
The ladies had retired ; the gentlemen w^ere
continuing their discussion.

" Dear me, the very speech !" exclaimed
Mr. Curzon. " "Wliere did you get it from,
Sydney?"

" From Miss Sherwood ; she has kept it
a long time in her desk."

From that day Miss Sherwood ceased to
be ''a very disagreeable person" in Mr.
Curzon's eyes. Probably the result would
have been rather different had some one
Avhispered in the honourable gentleman's
ear that his cherished speech (it was a pet
one, and he had taken great pains to con
it) had been preserved so carefully — not
for its acute reasoning, not for its pure
eloquence, but simply as a particularly good
specimen of " that species of rhetoric called
rigmarole !"

" Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see ourselves as others see us,
It wad frae mony a blunder free us.
An' foolish notion !"

Thenceforth Mr. Curzon became the de-

202 ANNE SHERWOOD.

cided patron of the governess, thougli liis
patronage was mingled with becoming con-
descension, as a matter of course.

TiJ ^ * -j.^

Once upon a time a select party at Mr.
Curzon's were on the high road to ennui.
Lady Adelaide was the only musical lady
present. In fact, very few ladies were present
at all, musical or unmusical, at Lady Ade-
laide's reunions. Had there been, they might
have withdrawn from her a portion of the
homage which she always exacted from
the opposite sex. Not that her ladyship
ever flirted; she w^as no more guilty of
flirtation than a statue of Lysippus would
have been ; and her virtue resulted from the
source whence the propriety of the statue
would have proceeded. No, Lady Adelaide
never flirted.

Lady Adelaide had sung a number of
scientific pieces in a magnificent voice and
with great execution. Her singing sur-
prised, but it affected no one. She had no
feeling, and was not sufliciently an actress
to assume any. She had played, besides,
several " firework pieces of music," full of
" chromatic scales like fire-rockets," as Cuth-
bert Bede, of venerable memory, would say ;

ANNE SHERWOOD. 203

but now the fireworks were over, conversa-
tion languished, and there was a general hut
unexpressed feeling that some fresh excite-
ment was wanted — in fact, that it would he
a " mercy" if some one would smash a lamp^
or some one's dress would catch fire, or some
one would faint, or produce a sensation of
any kind. This state of things produced
a demand for musical reinforcements ; but
they were not to be obtained. Of the few
ladies present, none were under fifty ; and if
they had sung, their singing days were over
— the glory was departed from their voices.

The timid literary lady promenaded her
hearers from the Dresden to the Dulwich
gallery — from the Florentine to the Louvre.
She discussed Titian's colouring and Mu-
rillo's grace; Michael Angelo's grandeur
and Salvator Eosa's wildness, till some one
in a corner (yawning behind the welcome
shadow of a screen) started the subject of
the Derby, as a relief to the chiaro scuro.

" Lady Adelaide, you are positively cruel
to give us no more of your divine harmony !"
said a young exquisite, who was remarkable
for the exploit of running through a hundred
thousand pounds before his lip had acquired
the down preluding manhood. Perhaps,

204 ANNE SHERWOOD.

thougli, as some one said of Dupin's calcu-
lations, there is a zero de trop in the story.

" Most harhavous^' said a gentleman in
the decline of life, who wished to pass for a
youth, and thought that lisping would make
him appear juvenile, "Most barbavous! — it
quite depv esses my s^ivits ! ''

" Lady Adelaide !" — interposed an old
Colonel, whose seventy winters had left him
all the gallant air of a man of fashion, and,
alas ! the unmistakeable stamp of a roue —
" if we poor mortals are no longer to hear
the strains of St. Cecilia, indulge us with
those of her humble follower. You have a
dame de conipapiie, I think ; is she not musi-
cal ? — if so, do let her appear. I am sure,
if you do but tap the floor (like another
Belinda) with your exquisite little slipper,
your sylph-like satellite wdll appear. Of
course she is sylph-like — everything attend-
ing you must catch a reflection of your
elegance."

" What say you to that, my Lord ?" said
Lady Adelaide, turning to Claude Douglas.

" I say, Lady Adelaide, what Sir Andrew
Ague-cheek said of Cesario, ' That youth's a
rare courtier ! rain odours, &c. Ill get them
all ready !' "

ANNE SHERWOOD. 205

" I did not mean tlie complimentary part
of the Colonel's speech," said her ladyship,
biting her lip with the slightest possible air
houdeur ; " I mean, about Dobson. You have
seen her. Do you advise my having her
summoned to give us some music?"

" I cannot advise anything which would
be painful to your ladyship's feelings, as
well as to those of the party concerned,"
said Claude, gravely. " To mortify must be
as repugnant as to be mortified."

" Another Daniel !" said Lady Adelaide.
" My Lord, you should have been the con-
fidant of Solomon, or the bosom friend of
Seneca."

Lord Claude bowed and smiled.

" Suppose we were to act charades," said
the timid literary lady, or " unprotected
female."

" Or get up an improvise tableau," said
Mr. Sackington Eeynard. " Paris and the
Goddesses. Lady Adelaide would make a
magnificent Juno !"

" But there is no Paris 1" said Lord
Claude ; and it was very unkind to say so, as
Mr. Sackington Eeynard thought himself at
least equal to the fair shepherd of Mount Ida.

" A scene from the Bride of Lammermuir

206 ANNE SHERWOOD.

would be enchaiitiiig," said the literary lady ;
" I could personate Lucy Asliton, and you,
my Lord, are the perfect type of the Master
of Eavenswood/'

'' But there is one great obstacle to the
plan/' said his lordship, smiling ; "I am
habitually too indolent to make love, even
en tableau J however insjoiring the object
before me might be."

" You are a monster, Lord Claude !" said
Lady Adelaide, with some meaning.

"I am 'indifferent honest,' your lady-
ship," said Lord Claude, looking very cool.

The tableaux fell to the ground, — the old
Colonel returning to the charge with regard
to the mifortunate Dobson.

Lady Adelaide, secretly more desirous of
Lord Claude's good opinion than of any other
person's, inasmuch as he never paid a bond
fide compliment, determined to show him
vdth what indifference she could brave his
censure, and therefore gave the antiquated
Adonis fall permission to ring, and send a
servant in her name, to summon the dame
de compagnie, and when she arrived, to ex-
tract as much music from her as he coidd.
No sooner said than done ; the summons w^as
dispatched.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 207

Lord Claude rose and walked away. He
was chafed to think that the poor dependent
should he summoned only to make sport for
the goodly company; hut as he could not
prevent the iroHc, he would retire from the
immediate scene of action. The messenger
had heen gone ahout twenty minutes, when
the door opened, and poor Miss Dohson
sailed in (adorned with all the gaudy finery
she could command, in honour of a cUhut
in the salon of her patroness), alternately
giggling, blushing, and ogling the company.
How pitiful it did look — that poor, yellow,
wrinkled face ! like a piece of discoloured
parchment dra^vn over hones, while the
head-dress wdth which she had attempted to
decorate herself only made her appear more
unsightly still. She stood near the door,
poor mean, vulgar soul, awkward, not timid,
and so proud of herself and her faded flowers
and flounces, and of Lady Adelaide's favour !
She had never ventured to hope for such an
hour as that ! The dehght of the moment
was worth twenty years of ordinary life;
certainly it w^as 1

As soon as Miss Dohson had recovered
from the pleasant surprise of finding herself
in the midst of a throng (to mingle with

208 ANNE SHERAVOOD.

which her highest flight of ambition had
never led her to aspire), she took in the
meaning of the petition made by several
gentlemen grouped round her. She blu*shed,
and, like Lady Heron, assured them that she
" durst not play." How much in earnest
she thought they all were ! And some one
spoke of Zuleika's beautiful description,
quoting —

" The music breathing from her face !"

and poor little Dobson really thought they
meant her. They asked her if she had read
the Bride of Abydos ? No ; but she had read
Alinda, or the Mysterious Marriage I

Quite half an hour elapsed before Miss
Dobson succeeded in convincing the incre-
dulous gallants who surrounded her, that
she was neither a Pasta nor a female Thal-
berg ; and even then, she allowed it to re-
main doubtfal, whether modesty had not as
much to do with her refusal to sing and play
as want of skill or cultivation.

In the meanwhile, no one had thought of
oiSering the poor little woman a chair. Mr.
Curzon had passed her with a haughty
glance, and " I'll trouble you to move. Miss
Dobson." Mr. Curzon wanted a portfolio of
engravings which lay upon a console behind

ANNE SHERWOOD. 209

her, and the unfortunate parasite had started
from her pleasant dream, and remembered
who she was ! Wlien the haughty patron
turned away, she tried to be as happy and
sprightly as before ; but it would not do, and
she began to feel hot and tired, and to want
to get to the housekeeper's room for that
particular cup of tea that had been drawing
when she came up stairs ! Suddenly a voice
exclaimed, in a tone of mock seriousness —
" Eoom for the Master of Eavenswood !"
and Lord Claude's tall figure breaking the
group, he placed a chair for the unfortunate
victim, saying, in his gentlest tone, " Will
you not be seated ?" Afterwards he brought
her an ice ; for the white-gloved footmen
were carrying refreshments round, and care-
fully offering them to every one else.

Miss Dobson looked up doubtingly, but
soon she discovered, that though he did not
smile and talk exaggerated nonsense. Lord
Claude meant to be kind, and even she under-
stood something of the motives which in-
fluenced him ; and, despite her blinding
vanity, began to suspect that she had been
mocked by the others, pitied by him ! Gra-
dually the gentlemen lounged away, having
"used up" the fun; and then the little

VOL. II, p

210 ANNE SHERWOOD.

woman had the satisfaction of finding that
when she was left in that embarrassing
situation — quite alone — Lord Claude again
advanced, and drawing a chair near, tried to
converse with her. Now and then he looked
at Lady Adelaide, and though he might not
have meant it, his look took the character of
grave reproof, and seemed to say, " Have
you a woman's heart?" And when Lady
Adelaide had read that look clearly, she said,
loudly enough for the words to reach him —
" No success with Miss Dobson, Colonel? I
give you leave to try the governess ! Dis-
cover, if you can, if there is any latent har-
mony in her composition !"

And again Lord Claude looked at Lady
Adelaide, and again she spoke : " Do try
your powers with Miss Sherwood, Colonel !
Orpheus drew music from stones and rocks ;
you will be greater than Orpheus, if you
extract music from her."

The above amiable speech Miss Dobson
most faithfully committed to memory for
Annie Sherwood's benefit ; she had no con-
cealments from her, wdien she could commu-
nicate anything disagreeable.

" Lady Adelaide !" began Lord Claude, in
a tone of gentle expostulation ; but her lady-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 211'

ship was in a very determined Iramour.
" Lady Adelaide !" lie repeated — " surely

you will not "

'' My Lord !" said Lady Adelaide, with
hauteur; then, affecting playfulness, she
added, " Surely you Avould not have Miss
Sherwood's powers ' wasted on the desert
air r to use the worn-out quotation."

" So far from it," said Lord Claude, re-
solutely, "that^ from Sydney's account of
her, I have often felt surprised that your
Ladyship had not been better acquainted
with "

" Well, we'll have her down stairs, as-
suredly," said Lady Adelaide. " I am not
sure but that she may be able to sing us
some rustic ballads. She has lived much in
the country, I believe."

"No, mamma; she can't sing," said Sydney,
who, notwithstanding his usual acuteness,
thought his mother was in earnest ; " she
can't sing, but she can do something better
than singing. She can give you a Shak-
spearian reading, like Mrs. Kemble."

" Wliat a good dodge !" exclaimed Mr.
Sackington Eeynard. "Let us have her
down by all means !"

Lady Adelaide looked at Lord Claude.
p 2

212 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" You are not going, my Lord ?" said slie,
quickly.

" I fear I must," replied Claude, bowing
as he passed by, but not so low as usual.

" ISio, no ; you shall not go, my Lord,"
cried Sydney, detaining him by a vigorous
exertion.

"Wliat is this?" said Mr. Curzon, ad-
vancing.

" Miss Sherwood is coming down to read
some scenes from Shakspeare, papa, and
Lord Claude w^ants to go aw^ay, and I am
determined he shan't ! Do make him stay,
papa."

And Claude was constrained to stay, wdie-
ther he would or not. A message was
despatched (by Sydney) to the governess.
After using all his persuasive powers, the
boy returned to say, " Mamma, she wont
come !"

" Wont !" repeated Lady Adelaide, for-
getful of her dignity. " She shall !"

" Tell, Miss Sherwood, that I request her
to come down," said Mr. Curzon, with
pompous dignity.

Sydney went up again, and presently
returned, leading in the contumacious go-
verness. Annie was plainly dressed in black

ANNE SHERWOOD. 213

silk. The masses of lier jetty hair were
twined round her head somewhat in the
fashion of a turban, and gave an additional
paleness to her cheeks, shaded wdth lashes
of unusual darkness.

Goaded by what she considered an unwar-
rantable exercise of authority, Annie had
determined to yield to a request amounting,
in fact, to a command ; but in doing so, to
evince that she considered her admission to
Lady Adelaide's salon only such as a profes-
sional artist might command. She felt, too,
perhaps, a proud consciousness that she
could and w^ould surpass what might be
expected from her, and would leave no room,
by elation or servility, for receiving insults
like those wdiich had been heaped on Miss
Dobson. Sydney (while Annie was making
a hasty preparation for her appearance in
public) had informed her of the mock
ovation wdiich had greeted the companion's
entree.

Wlien Annie Sherwood entered the draw-
ing-room, she bowed to the circle, precisely
as if she had been a hired performer, but
noticed no one in particular.

" I will trouble you to place a table here,"
said she to a servant wdio was crossing the

214 ANNE SHERWOOD.

room. " Thank you ; candles on the tahle,
if yon please. Be so good as to give me a
chair. WiU yon bring me a thick volume
which lies on the school-room table ?"

Then Annie seated herself, and, dropping
the dark fringed lids over her expressive
eyes, sat composedly awaiting the servant's
return.

The book was brought ; Mr. Curzon him-
self did Annie the honour of arranging the
lights, which courtesy she acknowledged by
a grave bow without looking towards him.

Then, with as much sang froid as " the
sublime Fanny" could have shown on a
similar occasion, Annie said, in a peculiarly
clear, sweet voice, " I shall have the honour
of reading to you Shakspeare's Merchant of
Venice^ Dramatis Tersonce^^ &c.

No one spoke. Every eye turned on the
reader. Lady Adelaide affected to yawn.
She was sorry, very sorry, for her own act.
She had brought down the "ugly gover-
ness" to show that she w^ould, and also to
enjoy her humiliation when assailed by ridi-
cule. But now, now she feared that admi-
rpition would take the place of that ridicule.
The play began. The voice alone of the
reader held every ear captive; but as she

ANNE SHERAVOOD. 215

warmed in her subject, as lier expressive
countenance became animated and reflected
every sbade of passion she sought to deh-
neate, her audience became fascinated ; they
quite forgot her identity with the school-
room drudge, so excluded from intercourse
with her noble patrons, so carefully hidden
from their guests, as though too unsightly
an object to be seen. And Annie soon for-
got of whom her audience consisted. Reading
her triumph in every eye, she rose to a proud
height in her declamation ; - it ceased to be
such — she became identified with every cha-
racter, grave or gay, which she assumed.
The coldest heart thrilled in listening to
her, — the very coldest, except that of the
proud Adelaide. The fiercest passion of
envy was awakened in her bosom. She —
she envious of the plain little governess !
— ^the fright ! — the dowdy, who had been as ,
a worm in her path ! She, the matchless
beauty, who looked down on her as the
eagle might gaze from its eyrie on the nest
of the lowly wren !

When fatigue made Annie pause between
the parts of the play, the men gathered
round her, as they had gathered round poor
little Dobson; but this time they were in

216 ANNE SHERWOOD.

earnest, quite in earnest, and Annie knew
they were, but a half-disdainful smile curled
her lips, and her only reply to their flatter-
ing comphments was a cold how. The dis-
dainful smile changed into one of radiant
beauty when Claude Douglas approached and
offered a few remarks which showed he had
a just appreciation of the performance : in-
deed, his expressive face had sufficiently
shown the intense interest with which he
had drunk in every word.

Encouraged by her success, Annie began
the second part, and proceeded with re-
doubled feeling and animation. She did not
direct her speech, nor even her eyes, to the
one particular shady corner; but she was
conscious that a person was seated there,
whose applause was worth that of all else in
the room, and, to win that applause, she
surpassed herself.

The play was over ; Annie closed the book
and looked up, her face still radiant with
the words she had just uttered ; but she
caught a cold, cruel eye fixed on her, which
soon recalled her to her senses, and reminded
her " who and what she was'' Quickly reco-
vering her self-possession, Annie bowed as
at her entrance, and, amidst murmurs of ap-.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 217

planse, made lier exit by a door wliicli she
felt, rather than knew, was held open for
her by Lord Claude Douglas.

Annie walked with a firm step till out of
sight ; but when she reached her own pre-
cincts, fatigue and excitement overcoming
her, she sank on a sofa and burst into tears.
They were not tears of unmingled bitterness,
nevertheless. True, she remembered Lady
Adelaide's inexorable eye, — remembered, too,
what it had promised her ; but beside that
eye, she recalled a glance so beautiful in its
soul-breathing expression, so long bent on
her in respectful admiration, in appreciating
interest, that the gracious memory chased
away the painful one, and Annie sank into
a charmed reverie — a reverie which Titania
might have envied, and from which she was
only aroused by some one addressing her.

The light was imperfect, she could not at
first distinguish her visitor : how great was
Annie's surprise to find, by the tone, that it
was none other than the aristocratic Mr.
Curzon ! Could it be ? Was she awake, or
dreaming ? Mr. Curzon had come to inquire
whether she were fatigued by her exertions,
to express a hope that she had taken some
refreshment after so much fatigue, and to

218 ANNE SHERWOOD.

thank her for the delight she had given to
his guests and himself !

What a silly dream that was ! Annie
Sherwood rubbed her eyes, looked up, and
beheld she was alone !

ANNE SHERWOOD. 219

CHAPTEE XIX.

Not many days after the previous " scene/'
as Lady Adelaide and her dame de compagnie
designated Annie Sherwood's performance,
her Ladyship took occasion to inform Mr.
Cnrzon that she intended parting with the
obnoxious governess.

"That must not be," said Mr. Curzon,
very decidedly. " We could not replace Miss
Sherwood ; she understands the boys' charac-
ters perfectly; their progress is immense.
Moreover, they like her. Since she came to
us, there are no more riots in the school-room.
I can't imagine what has made you conceive
such a design, Adelaide ! Certainly no fault
in her ; she is most conscientious in the dis-
charge of her duties."

" I think she carries her independence to
a height which reaches impertinence," said
Lady Adelaide. " Her manner towards me
is far from respectful."

"But she is scarcely ever in your pre-
sence."

220 ANNE SHERAVOOD.

" Excuse me, she always comes down at
luncheon time."

"Yes, for half-an-hour. Wliat does she
say then ?"

" Nothing : she never opens her lips ; but
her very silence is impertinent."

" Perhaps you never speak to her?"

" I don't consider myself obliged to exert
my conversational powers for a person in her
position," said her Ladyship, haughtily.

" You know that I did not mean to sup-
pose such a thing," said Mr. Curzon. " But,
of course, if you never speak to the poor
gM

" Poor girl !" repeated Lady Adelaide, con-
temptuously. " She will never see thirty-five
again !"

" Well, that is quite unimportant," said
Mr. Curzon. " But I must beg of you (as
you see so little of Miss Sherwood, and as
her offences are of such a negative kind) — I
must beg of you not to disturb the boys'
studies for a mere whim !"

" Mr. Curzon !" said Adelaide.

" I am sorry if the word offends you, Ade-
laide."

" I should think your introduction of such
a person as Miss Sherwood to the drawing-

ANNE SHERWOOD. 221

room for a theatrical display quite a sufficient
insult to me, Mr. Curzon, without the pre-
sent addition !"

" My introduction, Lady Adelaide ! — you
are dreaming ! You Avill next accuse me of
having given your vile follower, Dohson, the
entree of the drawing-room. Was it not at
your desire that Miss Sherwood came dowm
the other evening?"

" ]N^o, at your entreaty."

"I think not," said Mr. Curzon, rather
softened, for he was flattered by the idea
that his simple request had had more power
than an absolute command. " But you must
allow that she made no attempt to enter
into conversation with any one, and withdrew
most modestly directly she had finished
reading. She has certainly never showm the
least desire to be on familiar terms with us."

''Familiar terms !" repeated Lady Adelaide.
" She would find it rather difficult to be on
famiHar terms wdth me !"

" Assuredly she would," said Mr. Curzon,
smiling. " But pray remember, Adelaide,
that we must not think of making a change,
or at least not till Sydney is fit for Harrow.
He would rebel against any alteration in
plans, I am sure he w^ould."

222 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Then I must beg of you, Mr. Curzon, to
allow Miss Sherwood to confine herself to
her actual duties ; or, if she must rant for
your pleasure, let it be in her own precincts,
and for your edification alone. I give you a
carte blanche to attend her rehearsals : you
know, as I told you before, I am not a
jealous wife."

Lady Adelaide prided herself on her
policy ; but she had shown herself very weak
in the art. Thenceforth, Mr. Curzon thought
of the governess as a very interesting victim,
doubly interesting, inasmuch as he was
now quite persuaded that she appreciated
him ! Yes, she did appreciate Mr. Curzon ;
but the result of her appreciation was some-
thing very like contempt for his understand-
ing, though he had been a member of Par-
liament, an'^able speaker, and eke a minister
of state !

Had Annie suspected the extent of Lady
Adelaide's dislike to her, and her wish to get
rid of one whom she had learnt to fear as a
rival, she would immediately have given up
her " preferment " in her Ladyship's family.
As it was, she remained ignorant of the
doom she had narrowly escaped, though per-
fectly conscious that she found no favour in

ANNE SHERWOOD. 223

the eyes of lier patroness. Still lier pre-
sent position was preferable to the actual
persecution she had sometimes endured, and
she resolved not to seek a change.

Mr. Curzon and Lady Adelaide had so
long lived a la mode, that, after a last fruitless
attempt on the husband's part to establish
domestic arrangements on a rational, if not
a natural footing, their paths again diverged,
and each sought their separate diversions and
pleasures. Mr. Curzon had never gambled ;
but now he turned, he scarcely knew why, to
the billiard-table, while her Ladyship sud-
denly acquired a taste for cards, which only
stopped short of becoming a passion because
she had no passions ! Mr. Curzon and Lady
Adelaide frequently spent the evening in
different mansions, — seldom appeared to-
gether in public, unless he attended her to
the Opera, or to the English Ambassador's.

At the E all the English in Brussels

occasionally appeared, though they invariably
grumbled at the entertainment of their noble
host. It was affirmed that at one of the

rare dinner parties at Lord 's, a tureen

placed on the table was found to contain
nothing more delectable than cobwebs !
Brussels, however, is the favourite soil for

224 ANNE SHERWOOD.

scandal of all sorts, wliether it affects the
modest reputation of a grisette, or the has-
pitable reputation of an ambassador.

Despite billiards, Mr. Curzon, divorced
from his wonted patriotic labours, found time
hang heavily on his hands. To the vexation
and annoyance of Annie (who, of course,
could not venture to protest against his
visits), he came day after day into the school-
room, to witness the studies and urge them
on. He was full of condescension and encou-
ragement. Annie dreaded his tiresome com-
mendations far more than she had feared his
former criticisms ; oft and again a sigh of
relief escaped from her when he withdrew.

Annie was never more called on for a
Shakspearian reading in the drawing-room ;
but she often read a play for the children's
entertaiimient, and grew as animated with
that scanty audience as though her hearers
had been numerous. Sometimes Mr. Curzon
would drop in at such a time, then the
reader closed the book ; often, however, he
pressed her to continue, hi a tone of such
patronising tranquillity, mingled with con-
descending compliments, that the request
must be interpreted as a command. Glad
and happy was the governess when the door

ANNE SHERWOOD. 225

closed behind her patron, and she was left
alone to pursue her vagrant fancies in com-
position, or to talk with Sydney. Not that
the conversation of Sydney was all it ought
to have been ; — it did not always fall on his
books and studies, nor did it always con-
sist of sage remarks ; for often, very often,
his theme was his friend Lord Claude ; and
foolish Annie, though she said nothing,
always let him go on unchecked — there was
one subject that never tired her !

Annie went out with her charges one
bright spring morning, and Sydney, who
was w^alking by her side, repeated the com-
pliments Lord Claude had paid her perform-
ance. The repetition of his encomiums was
of course checked ; but very gently indeed,
and the listener was not at all displeased
with his Lordship for his praises, nor wdtli
the child for re-echoing them. It was, as w^e
have said, a very bright spring day, which
perhaps accounted for Annie Sherwood's very
recent discovery that Brussels was a beau-
tiful city, and that the previously despised
enclosure of the Park was the perfection of
a public promenade. The trees w^ere now
clothed in their freshest robes, their branches
were gently swayed by the most musical of

VOL. II. Q

226 ANNE SHERWOOD.

breezes, and the lofty avenues looked at once
graceful and majestic, where bright flow^ers
sprang up every here and there, and per-
fumed the atmosphere. The bundles of
straw had disappeared, and in their places
stood some white marble statues of great
beauty, — especially beautiful was a Diana.
The fountain, too, had burst from its long
sleep, and in its waters sported a multitude of
gold-fish, which some gaily-dressed children
were feeding. There w^as a tolerably good
musical performance taking j)lace in a kind
of rotunda, raised in the middle of the Park,
and inscribed with the names of eminent
composers. The rotunda wore the air of a
temple dedicated to genius.

From one of the Park entrances is seen a
noble view of the magnificent "Place," with its
fine equestrian statue of the great Crusader,
Godefroi de Bouillon. At that entrance,
Annie and her pu.pils paused a moment in
admiration ; they then went dowai a slope
into one of those pleasant shady bas-fonds in
which the unfortunate Hollanders (in the
Belgian Eevolution) fought and fell like so
many lions at bay : they were buried wdiere
they feU.

Seated on the turf, near a small fountain

ANNE SHERWOOD. 227

(consecrated by tlie memory of Peter the
Great), was a gentleman whom (although his
back was turned) all the little party recog-
nised.

"We were just talking of you, Lord
Claude !" said Sydney. " I have been telling
Miss Sherwood all you said about The
Merchant of Venice, and about her !"

Lord Claude looked pleased with his own
thoughts, or with the boy's naivete, and
taking one of the children's hands, imme-
diately joined them in their promenade.

For a little time they walked on in silence,
listening to the sweet strains from the
rotunda as they came to them, softened by
the slight distance. It w^as foohsli, vain,
w^eak-minded ; but yet Annie Sherwood had
not felt such happiness since the days of her
childhood, as she experienced that hour walk-
ing beside the acquaintance of a day. Wliat
right had she so to feel ! Assuredly none ;
and there was no one at hand to remind her
of her now forgotten position — no one to
point out the gulf which rank and fortune
had placed between the daughter of a poor,
obscure, country vicar, and the high-born
heir to splendid titles and princely fortunes !
Perhaps it was well there was none to awaken
Q 2

228 ANNE SHERWOOD.

her from her dream, it was such a pleasant
one — she would have so few such through
life. At a pause in the music, Lord Claude
began to tallv, in a voice sweeter than the
music which had preceded it, and told Annie
the story of all the interesting spots in the
fair city. He told her to go and walk some
twilight hour in the grand old cathedral, and
watch the effect of the dying day on the rich
tombs, as it streamed through the gorgeous
coloured glass of the wdndow^s. He told her
to look, too, at the exquisite sculpture of
Verbruggen, which forms the pulpit, or
rather supports it. 'Tis the first father of
men, with his fair partner in sin and sorrow,
drooping under the oppressive sense of un-
accustomed guilt, and driven forth from
Paradise ; but their hands are tightly clasped,
as though love must be to them in future,
instead of the Eden they had lost. Death, the
newly-created enemy, hovers over, to remind
them that their love is to be an ephemera
like their existence. Then Claude repeated
" De Musset's" lines—

" Oui, les premiers baisers— oui, les premiers serments.
Que deux etres mortels echangerent sur terre,
Ce fut au pied d'un arbre effeuillc par les vents
Sur uu roc en poussiere.

AKNE SHERWOOD. 229

"lis prirent a temoia de leur joie epheraere
Un ciel toujours voile qui change a tout moment,
Et des astres sans nom, que leur propre lumicre
Devore incessamment.

" Tout niourait autour d'eux, I'oiseau dans le feuillage,
La fleur entre leurs mains, I'insecte sous leurs pieds,
La source dessecliee oii vaciUait I'image
De leurs traits oublies ;

" Et sur tous ces debris joignant leurs mains d'argile,
Etourdis des eclairs d'un instant de plaisir,
lis croyaient echapper "

This melancholy picture awoke Annie from
her pleasant dream; but her new acquain-
tance, passing rapidly from grave to gay,
drew such lively satires of the Beiges and
their miniature court, that the tears which
had gathered in Annie Sherwood's eyes were
chased away by smiles.

The little party returned to the more
public promenade. It was almost entirely
filled by crow^ds of fashionables, dressed in
the liveliest colours they could assume with-
out overstepping the bounds of taste. Here
and there might be seen a bourgeoise, wear-
ing a black silk mantle over her head — a
remnant and remembrance of the graceful
Spanish mantilla, that looks at once " both
mystical and gay." Among the crowd
walked two fair youths, with gentle, modest

230 ANNE SHERWOOD.

demeanours, bowing low every now and tlien,
in acknowledgment of the respectful homage
they received. The elder bore an unmis-
takeable likeness to his royal father — once an
eminently handsome man — the younger, to a
regal but exiled ancestor. Altogether there
was far less of state and conscious position
about those two young and beautiful princes,
than was affected by the footman of the
Curzon family.

When mingling with the crowd of gaily-
clad, smiling fashionables, with whom she
had probably not one feeling in common,
Annie felt depressed and solitary, barely
conscious that her newly-found, fascinating
acquaintance was still walking by her side,
and occasionally addressing her in the most
charming of all voices ; but even that voice
lost some of its music in a crowd.

How Annie started ! "What a vague pain
went through her heart when Claude Douglas,
disengaging his hand from that of the child
with whom he was walking, bowed, and
hastily turning away, joined a group of ladies
he had just met in the avenue. He walked
beside the youngest and fairest. She was
beautiful, and had all the entourage of adorn-
ment to enhance her beauty, and all the

ANNE SHERWOOD. 231

consciousness of loveliness to make iier
doubly charming. She was, moreover, a
high-born lady — you could see that in the
long arching neck, the straight nose, the
dainty little foot. And how sweetly she
smiled on Lord Claude Douglas ! How
plainly her eyes said, " I have singled you
out in this throng — I have forgotten all
others — I see but you !"

What right had that plain little gover-
ness, in a shabby brown merino dress, and a
coarse straw bonnet, to look after the beau-
tiful smiling lady, and to wish, even for a
moment, that they might exchange places !
Oh ! the world is full of vain wishes and
foolish aspirations ! No wonder poor Annie
had some. She was very lonely, very sad,
as she turned from that scene in which she
had no share, and began her solitary evening
by reading over all Antonia's old letters.
It is so difficult to forget old loves and old
friendships 1 So much more difficult if they
have proved as the apples of Sodom, beautiful
without, but within — ashes !

The letters had been all read and replaced
in the desk, together with a lock of long
dark hair, severed from Antonia's head on
the day when she had said, with all the

282 ANNE SHERAVOOD.

warmth of sincerity, " There is no scene of
my future hfe in which you are not mingled ;
no plan, for days to come, in which you
have not a part !" The wreck of such a
friendship on the world's quicksands was
enough to chill a heart's warmest pulses ; it
had all hut hroken Annie Sherwood's.
" Cold words will hreak the fine heart, even
as sharp frost will shiver the delicate crystal."

Annie was going up to her sleeping-room,
there to deposit her treasures (for Antonia's
letters were still treasures to her) ; she loved
them, as she loved the writer, for the past.
She passed Lady Adelaide's dressing-room.
The door was open ; her Ladyship sat before
a cheval glass which reached the floor, and
reflected the whole of her fair form, from
the crown of golden hair (in which her maid
was arranging jewels scarcely brighter),
down to the aristocratic foot in the small
white satin slipper. The dark stufi' gown of
the governess seemed to cast a shadow over
the light silvery dress in which the beautiful
woman was arrayed to appear in a loge
d' opera.

" Miss Sherwood," said her Ladyship. The
governess stood still. " Come in." She
entered. " I wish you to go to 's

ANNE SHERWOOD. 233

Library, Montagne cle la Cour, and to ask
for the Yicomte de Bragelonne."

'' To-morrow, Lady Adelaide ?"

" 'No ; this evening."

"Alone?"

" Yes ; it is too late for the children to
go out."

" May I desire one of the servants to go
with me ?"

" Certainly not, or they might do the
errand. You don't require any protection."

Annie withdrew without making any
reply, without once looking up. She would
not raise her eyes to the proud beauty's
triumphant smile, though she knew it w^as
there. They were lighting the gas in the
streets. It was twilight. Annie went forth
as she was desired, executed her commission ;
but knowing the town imperfectly, she lost
her way, and wandered on in uncertainty, till
she stood in the midst of the old " Place,"
with its beautiful Hotel de Yille, so like a
venerable church. Li the twilight, one may
look round the picturesque square, with its
middle-age aspect, till we fancy ourselves
back to the days of Froissart. Here the
most august potentate of his age resigned the
splendours of the purple, and laid down the

234 ANNE SHERWOOD.

sceptre ere it had grown too heavy for en-
feebled hands — greater in renouncing empire
than others in attaining it. Here had perished
the great-hearted patriots, Egmont andHorn;
here the savage Alva had gloated over their
heroically endured sufferings !

But a busy crowd of market people were
clearing away the stands and stalls on wdiich
they ]iad just displayed their w^ares, and
jostling against Annie, roughly reminded her
that she had stood too long gazing. So she
went on with a quickened step, and at length
regained her home — no, not her home, Mr.
Curzon's house ; and the footman stared as
he let her in so late, and promised himself
a joke with the housemaid, at the expense
of the demure governess, who had been
wandering out alone till nine o'clock at
night 1

The next evening, finding herself unex-
pectedly released from her charges at an
unwontedly early hour, Annie ventured to
steal out on her owai account, and hastily
walked towards the cathedral. A special
service was celebrating ; she took a conve-
nient station, from which she could at once
contemplate the effect of the setting sun on
the gorgeous windows, and also examine the

ANNE SHERWOOD. 235

piece of sculpture wliicli Lord Claude had
pointed out to her attention.

Por some time Annie stood motionless,
lulled into a pleasing sadness by the ex-
quisite music which floated around her, as
well as by the scene she witnessed.

" You are dreaming l" said a low, sweet
voice close beside her, in Trench.

"Of Paradise r answered Annie, as Claude,
slightly bowing, passed on. She stood quite
still, as if fearing to dissolve a spell ; when
at length she left the church, she involun-
tarily whispered, " Ut cefut tm reve r

"When Annie re-entered it was half-past
seven, too late for a young woman to have
been wandering out alone, even to enjoy an
innocent, poetical dream ; but then she had
been just told that a governess needed no
protection, and she had been so long treated
as one quite divorced from youth, that she
sometimes forgot what was suitable ! Be-
sides, she had for months acted as chaperon
to the elderly charms of a lady of fifty 1

And when Annie received a reprimand for
her excursion to the cathedral, she did think
her Ladyship rather inconsistent and un-
reasonable. She became more sensible than
ever of Lady Adelaide's growing dislike to

236 ANNE SHERWOOD.

lier, and resolved to relinquish lier post.
She was now neither destitute nor friendless :
she might withdraw if she chose ; she had
not Ellen to think of, before she decided on
giving up the many advantages she enjoyed
in the very aristocratic family of Mr. Curzon.
Yes, she would leave ; but not just yet. She
had not seen any of the interesting things
Lord Claude had told her she ought to see.
She must see them ; she would stay a few
months longer for that purpose, and also
that she might improve her Trench ! Of
course, Annie could have no other reason !

ANNE SHERWOOD. 237

CHAPTEE XX.

Despite Lady Adelaide's contemptuous man-
ner to Annie, and the depreciating remarks
in which she indulged whenever accident or
design made her the subject of conversation,
she had become an object of curiosity, if not
of interest, to many of her Ladyship's aris-
tocratic acquaintance. Several of them gra-
ciously determined to extend to her the
honour and advantage of their notice,
of course with the full conviction that she
would be sensible of that honour and advan-
tage, and ready gratefully to meet their ad-
vances on their own terms. They were all
gentlemen !

One day Annie found a beautiful bouquet
on her table. She contemplated it with ill-
concealed dehght, for she had a silly fancy
that those bright flowers were chosen and
sent by the reigning hero of her imagina-
tion. To say that she was flattered by the
gift, would be to say too little.

The boys watched her while she held the

238 ANNE SHERWOOD.

flowers so caressingly, and their smiling tell-
tale faces made lier think she was betra}dng
her thonghts. So, contenting herself with a
stolen look now and then, she pnt the flow^ers
in a vase and pursued her avocations. How
much less dingy and sombre the school-
books and slates looked that day! How
bright the sky was ! How many a sun-
beam strayed in and lit up the lonely room 1
The children were less tiresome than usual,
or they seemed so to her ; Lady Adelaide's
supercilious looks, and even her words at
luncheon, had lost half their power to w^ound.
The only thing really tiresome and vexatious
that day, was Mr. Curzon's half-hour's
prosing, about matters of which he under-
stood little or nothing !

In the evening Mr. Curzon and Lady
Adelaide went out in two separate direc-
tions. The boys spent that evening with
Annie. Lord Claude w^as expected to peep
in. He was going to a state ball at the
Palace, and had promised Sydney to show
himself to him first, in the Highland garb,
which he intended to assume ; for he was a
true Scot, and prou.d of being one.

" You wont let Lord Claude come up here.
Miss Sherwood, I suppose?" said Sydney,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 239

well remembering the misuccessful efforts
made by several gentlemen, who thought
themselves quite irresistible, to gain ingress
to the regions over which Annie presided.
" There he is 1 I hear the carriage stopping !
Ah ! I see by your face that you mean him
to come up ! You know he is not like the
rest ; don't you ?"

Before Annie could make any reply, the
boy w^as bounding over the staircase, voci-
ferating, '' Come up. Lord Claude 1 Come up
to the school-room ! Will you come ?"

" Have I Miss Sherwood's permission ?"

" Oh, yes 1 all's right ! — she'll be very glad
to see you."

And Annie was glad, though ashamed and
confused that her feelings should be inter-
preted so plainly.

How^ grand he looked 1 that nobly-born
man, with his tall, elegant figure, clad in the
tartan of his clan, a tightly-fitting, black
velvet-jacket, wdth massive silver ornaments,
resplendent Avith cairn-gorms ! How fine
that face, shaded with raven locks, and lit
by those lustrous, speaking eyes ! It was at
once a countenance of power and gentleness,
proud yet tender, spirited yet yielding.

Lord Claude's salutation of Annie was at

240 ANNE SHERWOOD.

once full of deference and cordiality. He
was less animated than usual ; but that was
as if to assure her of his respect. He re-
mained ten minutes or a quarter of an hour
talking to her and the children ; fortunately
not longer, or Miss Dobson might have
grow^n tired of kneeling outside the school-
room door, alternately applying ear and eye
to the keyhole.

" You have a beautiful bouquet," said
Lord Claude to Annie, Avhen, for the boys'
edification, he had finished the separate his-
tories of '' philibeg," " sporran," " dirk,"
" skian-dhu," &c. &c.

" Yes," said Annie, colouring, as if the
flowers were stolen.

" I have seen it before," said Lord Claude,
looking very hard at Annie, and seeming
very serious.

" Have you, my Lord ?" stammered she,
quite conscious of the look that was bent on
her, but entirely misinterpreting its meaning,
and not daring to raise her own eyes.

" Yes, I have ; but do you know what the
bouquet says to you?"

" No, my Lord."

" Then you do not know the language of
the flowers ?"

ANNE SHERWOOD. 241

" I know it very imperfectly."

" May I be your interpreter ?"

" If yon will be so obliging."

" Perhaps yon already divine from wliom
it comes ?"

Annie's only reply was the deep crimson
whicli suffused her face and neck ; for worlds
she could not have spoken.

" It means," said Lord Claude, very slowly^
'' it means a declaration of love ; so fervent,,
that if it were equally sincere and respectful,
it would be worth a king's ransom." Then
pointing to each separate flower, he gave a
brief interpretation of its signification, aU the
while looking as serious as though he had
been enlarging on the best interests of
humanity. " The clock upbraids me !" said
Lord Claude, starting, as he accidentally
caught sight of the timepiece.

" With the waste of time !" said Annie,
finishing the quotation.

" No," replied Claude ; '' with a lesser sin,
the want of punctuality. I have an appoint-
ment at the Hotel de I'Europe before I
proceed to the Palace. But to return to
*the theme,' — have you untied the ribbon
which bound the bouquet ?"

'' No," said Annie, " I did not like to — I

VOL. II. R

242. ANNE SHERWOOD.

mean, I have not." " Ah, certainly lie must
have sent them!" thought Annie; "how
else could he know of the ribbon which tied
the flowers together, and which the vase
in which they were placed entirely con-
cealed ?"

" They will die if they continue so tightly
bound," said Lord Claude; "you should
loosen and give them fresh water; indeed
you should cut the ends of the stems — at
least, if you care for prolonging their brief
life !"

" Assuredly I do, my Lord."

"They seem very precious to you?"

Annie gave no answer in words, but she
looked very much as if they were precious
indeed.

" Let me cut the gordian knot before I
depart," said Claude. " Have I your leave ?"

Before Annie could reply, he drew forth
his skian-dliu.

" Do you know whence my weapon takes
its name ?" he asked.

" No, indeed, my Lord."

"It is called skian-dliu, or black -knife,
because of the dark deeds it was wont to
perpetrate in the so-called good old times,"
said Claude, as he cut most relentlessly

ANNE SHERWOOD. ^4S

tlu'ough several of the most beautiful flowers,
utterly destro3dng them.

" Oh, my Lord, spare them ! they are so
beautiful !" exclaimed Amiie, with more
fervour than the occasion demanded, and
stooping to pick up some of the severed
petals.

" Forgive my spoliation," said Claude.
" How wicked I have been, though ! See, I
have actually annihilated the most impas-
sioned part of the message !" and, as he
spoke, the skian-dhu passed through the rose-
coloured ligature, and from the heart of the
bouquet a little billet fell at Annie's feet.
" I hope I have your forgiveness to bear with
me !" said he, and bowing, withdrew ere
Annie could reply, or recover from her sur-
prise and vexation at finding herself, as she
supposed, trifled with by the last man in
the world from whom she could have
expected a deliberate insult, and as an insult
she could not help considering the billet so
clandestinely conveyed.

But Annie's indignation was considerably
heightened, when on opening her note, she
found that it conveyed a high-flown but
really insultmg declaration from the old roue
Colonel ! She was angry with Lord Claude
R 2

244 ANNE SHERWOOD.

angry with herself. She felt sure that she
had betrayed a childish pleasure in the pos-
session of the unfortunate bouquet, while
supposing that it came from Claude ; with
him she was angry for witnessing her folly,
and probably putting his own interpretation
on it. But how did he know from wdiom it
came ? What could have inspired him w^ith
the design of mocking her credulity ? How
came it about that her mortification took
place in his presence? The result of her
annoyance was, that the pretty, pink-scented
note Avas torn into as many pieces as it could
produce, and the rare flowers shred petal from
petal, as if Annie had been repeating over
and over again, " // maime un 2^eu, tendre-
ment, constamment, pas die tout f in that
pretty floral fortune-telling wdiich romantic
girls love so much. Poor Annie ! how that
day's gleam of brightness passed away 1
How she remembered a tliousand little
trifles of an annoying nature, which she had
disdained to notice a few hours earlier !
How^ bitter her tears w^ere that night !
How firm were her resolutions of leavin<r
the Curzons, though she had not seen one-
eighth part of the lions of Brussels, nor
even caught a distant glimpse of the glorious

ANNE SHERWOOD. 245

field on which the defeat of a stricken easrle,
when soaring beyond the limits of humanity,
had changed the face of the w^orld. Lady Ade-
laide had been several times to Waterloo —
had taken the children there; but it had never
occurred to her to let the governess occupy
the vacant seat, with the back to the horses ;
she would rather have given it to her maid !

The morning following her discomfiture,
Annie and the boys met Lord Claude in the
Park. He immediately joined them, and
after the usual greeting, said —

" T am afraid I offended you yesterday
evening, Miss Sherwood."

"You did offend me, my Lord," said
Annie, deliberately.

" By destroying your bouquet ?"

"No, my Lord, but by suffering me to
receive it : as you appear to have been quite
aware of the insult intended to be offered
me — the deepest insult which could be offered
to a woman in my unprotected situation."

"Miss Sherwood, you astonish me !"

" Possibly, my Lord ; it would astonish
most of the great world in which you move,
perhaps, to find that any person in my
position has sufficient refinement to feel an
insult, or enough spirit to resent it."

246 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" But, surely, you cannot believe me ca-
pable of "

" I do suppose you, my Lord, capable of
having, as you yourself remarked, seen tliat
unfortunate bouquet in otlier bands than
mine; and, from your observations and action,
I perceived that you knew something of its
contents."

" What then, Miss Sherwood ?"

" What then, my Lord 1 It may be that
my estimate of you w^as false ; it may be
that I have exaggerated the consideration
due to a defenceless woman ; but from you,
my Lord — from you I should have expected
that, instead of enjoying my surprise and
embarrassment — instead of drawing from me
childish expressions of pleasure (which never
would have been uttered had I known from
whence the odious gift came) — ^yes, how-
ever unreasonable, I should have expected
that you would have offered a remonstrance
to Colonel Annesley, or at least have warned
me of the insult I was going to receive."

" And your expectations would have been
perfectly just," said Claude, who had listened
quite calmly, though Avith respectful atten-
tion ; " but I assure you (on the word of an
honour which has never been forfeited) that

ANNE SHERWOOD. 247

though I certainly saw the Colonel choose
the bouquet in the Passage St. Hubert, and
saw him insert a billet in the centre, then
carefully tie round it a piece of pink ribbon,
I had no idea for whom it was destined.
At least I made a very mistaken conjecture
on the subject ; for seeing him disappear
immediately afterwards in a shop at the end
of the Passage (which is equally famous for
Scotch buns, and for two showy-looking
Scotch girls), I really supposed it intended
to propitiate one of them. Indeed, I did
not give the affair a second thought, till, re-
cognising the bouquet on your table, I must
own I felt desirous to know whether you had
found the billet. I acknowledge, too, that
I was struck with your seeming delight in
receiving the flowers, and "

" The flowers, Lord Claude," interrupted
Sydney, who had caught the last words
only. " Are you talking of Miss Sherwood's
bouquet ?"

" I am, Sydney."

" Well, then, I can tell you we were all
nicely taken in by it — Miss Sherwood and all !"

" What do you mean ?"

" Why, we all thought it was a present
from you !"

248 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Me !" exclaimed Claude ; wliile Annie
looked very mucli as if she would be greatly
relieved by a sudden earthquake which would
swallow her up.

. " Yes/' said Sydney, '' it was one of your
servants brought them."

" One of my servants ?"

" Yes, your German, Heinrich."

" If this be really so," exclaimed Claude,
*' he shall leave my service directly."

" Oh, not so, my Lord ; not so, on my
account, I beseech you," said Annie. " This
affair has made me very wretched. I should
be yet more so, were any one to suffer on my
account."

" It must be so," said Claude, hurriedly ;
"it is the only reparation I can offer you.
If the fellow has hired himself as the instru-
ment of Colonel Annesley's baseness, he de-
serves punishment. And yet I am sorry for
his disgrace. I always thought him honest
before, and attached to me. He nursed me
through a long illness at Manheim."

" This is his first offence, and it will very
likely be his last, my Lord," pleaded Annie.
" Pray, pray forgive him ! I have made a
foolish fuss about this affair. Do let it be
forgotten !"

ANNE SHERWOOD. 249

Not that Annie, though she thus spoke,
ever would forget it — it had caused her too
much humiliation — but she was w^ell pleased
with Lord Claude's explanation.

Before leaving her, he, with peculiar
tact, succeeded in giving Annie so many
things to think about, so many new thoughts
to analyse, that she could not dwell as con-
stantly on Colonel Annesley's offence as she
otherwise would have done. The affair for-
tunately did not reach Lady Adelaide's ears
in detail. The children were very httle with
their mother. When they were, they never
climbed her knees, as other children would,
to tell their mother all that had happened,
and more than had happened ! Miss
Dobson's tale was imperfect, from the
fact of her having been unable to apply
both eye and ear to the keyhole at the
same time. Lady Adelaide seldom made
any direct inquiries (except of Dobson),
lest she should fancy herself of too much
importance.

A fortnight later, Lady Adelaide acci-
dentally entered the school-room. She came
there in quest of a History of France (her
Ladyship was reading a novel of Dumas,
and wanted to learn lolio Henry the Great

250 ANNE SHERWOOD.

was. Probably other reasons miglit have
brought her to regions with which she was
so little acquainted.

A bouquet, at least as beautiful as Colonel
Annesley's, was on the table. Lady Adelaide
deliberately took it from the vase, and threw
the crushed, broken flowers into the fire-
place, remarking that the smell was unwhole-
some for the children. Annie neither moved
nor spoke, but carefully closed the door after
her Ladyship. Those were not Colonel
Annesley's flowers ; Annie had, however,
some reason for valuing them. She knelt
down before the fire-place, and gathering up
the broken flowers, put them in a sheet of
paper, and locked them in her desk, all the
time as tearful as a child whose pet canary
has died, and caused her " first grief."

Poor, foolish Annie ! She knew that she
was dreaming an idle dream, that would end
in darkness. She knew that she was setting
up an idol to worship, that would haply fall
from the high altar whereon she had placed
it, and crush her in its fall ! But a woman
in love for the first and last time, at an age
when the heart clings to its choice wdth a
tenacity of which earlier youth is incapable,
seldom reasons, nor did she. She little, little

ANNE SHERWOOD. 251

knew that when the proud scion of a noble
house had first addressed her, he had been
greatly prompted by the compassion of a
generous nature : compassion for her lonely
lot — her life of trial and oppression. She
little knew that the first time of their meet-
ing he had mentally decided that there could
exist no danger to his heart, in showing
sympathy for, and interest in, so plain a
w^oman 1 True, he soon felt drawn towards
her by respect and admiration — soon reahzed
the existence of real beauty in her, irrespec-
tive of mere form and colouring; but Lord
Claude was a man of the world, and he was
not in love !

Annie did not wait to think whether he
were or were not ; she had enough to do to
watch over herself, lest one unguarded look
or act should lead to the betrayal of her pre-
sumptuous secret. Presumptuous, indeed —
and yet, who could blame the poor lonely
girl for her foolish dream? Shut from all
society, excluded from all converse bat that
of books and her own thoughts, week after
week, month after month went by, and not
a human being crossed her path who ad-
dressed one word of sympathy or kindness to
her excepting Claude Douglas, and accident

252 ANNE SHERWOOD.

or fate threw him constantly in her path.
Did she go out into the crowded promenade,
his was the first smile that greeted her ; did
she lead the children to some quiet spot, he
was there reading. Perhaps it was poetry
he read ; then he w^ould lend her the volume,
lining the passages which he thought the
most striking or beautiful. She was sure to
think of them as he thought.

Besides these apparently accidental rencoji-
/r^5, Sydney constantly drew Lord Claude into
the school-room ; once there, he seemed to
forget time — certainly Annie forgot it ! Some-
times Claude came in with Mr. Curzon, osten-
sibly to note the children's progress, but
really because Annie's society had become
necessary to him — he said her conversation
was so varied, her reading so extensive, her
taste so pure and true ; yet her mind was so
free from pedantry.

The day seemed long to Claude when he
had not seen Annie — the societyof his fashion-
able friends vapid and tiresome ; but he was
not in love — how could he be so with a plain
little governess, dressed in brown merino?
No, Claude was net in love !

As for Lady Adelaide, she looked on, and
wondered with a contemptuous wonder. She

ANNE SHERWOOD. 253

was prevented dismissing Annie by Mr. Cur-
zon, so she could not abruptly get rid of her,
but she could and did make her life very
wretched — so wretched, that she would pro-
bably leave of herself. In this plan Lady
Adelaide would have found full success, but
that Annie was now chained to her bondage
by stronger links than the deepest poverty
ever wove.

Lady Adelaide did not understand her; she
knew her pride, she knew her resolution, but
she did not know her ^s^oman's heart. She
did not know how long, how enduringly the
poor oppressed governess would bear the
daily torture of insults and sneers, rather
than cease to hear the music of a loved voice,
that made all discord harmony.

Mr. Curzon, happy, self-satisfied Mr. Cur-
zon, the last man in the world who would
have done a dishonourable thing advisedly,
or thought an evil thought unless it were
suggested to him, applauded himself for his
management, considered that his children
were profiting very much by Miss Sherwood's
labours, scarcely less by the constant pre-
sence of Lord Claude, who so kindly gave up so
much of his time to them, and had actually
volunteered to direct Sydney's French studies.

254 ANNE SHERWOOD.

It never occurred to him that Lord Claude
was reading aloud, for Sydney's edification,
French books which Sydney could not un-
derstand, and to which Sydney did not even
pretend to listen. Mr. Curzon never noticed
that Andre Chenier was sometimes ex-
changed for Petrarca, Lamartine and Victor
Hugo for Goethe.

When the tired governess seemed to have
cast off her manteau de plomh, and looked
radiantly happy, Mr. Curzon thought she
was animated by gratitude for his con-
descending kindness, and applauded himself
as the most just and liberal of employers.
After all, it was a great pleasure to oneself
to make poor dependents happy ! Mr. Curzon
almost wished lie had tried the experiment
before.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 255

CHAPTEE XXI.

*' I NEED not be in a liurry to choose my
wife !" remarked Sydney, with the pose air
of a man who had spent a dozen seasons in
the great world. " I shall only have to look
round and fix wherever fancy leads me. Of
course, however, I shall remember who I
am. Ought I not to do so, Lord Claude ?"

" Assuredly," said Lord Claude, smiling ;
" but really, Sydney, there seems very little
danger of your forgetting who you are. I
sometimes wish I could forget who I am."

" I can't think why you should, my Lord ;
if I were you, I should be too proud of my-
self to want to forget for a minute."

" But I am not the least proud of myself,"
said Claude, sighing ; " and often wdsli I were
any one else."

"For what would you exchange, my
Lord ?" asked Annie Sherwood, who was very
much of Sydney's way of thinking.

" For what ?" said Claude, starting. " Oh,
for some poor, ambitious artist, battling his

256 ANNE SHERWOOD.

way lip to fame and distinction; for some
aspiring soldier, cutting out a patent of real
nobility for liimself by his sword. To be
born accidentally noble is, if one has any
aspirations, a thorough weariness. To be
distinguished accidentally, and lack real no-
bility, is next to the wretchedness of being
a monarch by fate, and being such only in
name. Do you remember, Miss Sherwood,
the passage in * Sardanapalus,' in which he
wishes to share ' a cottage ' with Myrrha
' on the Caucasus, and wear no crown but
Howlers ?' "

" A very stupid wish, m}^ Lord," said
Sydney. '' A crown is a very pretty bauble,
whatever people may say."

" Most men must think it such," said
Annie, " or why is it that so very few
instances are recorded of those who have
had strength of mind to refuse a throne ?"

" Cromwell and Washington are a host in
themselves," said Claude.

" Don't put those two names together,"
said Annie, warmly. " Cromwell only re-
fused the crown more firmly to grasp kingly
power ; but the great, the Eoman-heai*ted
Washington desired neither power nor the
emblem of power."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 257

" True ; I was irreverently mixing fine
gold with alloy," said Claude. '' But if, as
you say, men have so rarely strength to
resist a crown's temptation, we have little
right to condemn usurpation."

" I think, my Lord, that we have a right
to condemn usurpation, but none to be
severe upon the usurper, when the strength
of his temptation is considered. I have
always thought Napoleon too harshly cen-
sured for accepting the vacant throne of the
country he had rescued from anarchy — ac-
cepting it at a moment when his mind must
have been equally dazzled by the applause
of millions, and the light of his own genius.
By-the-bye, did you not attend Lady Ade-
laide to Waterloo the other day ?"

"To Waterloo, Miss Sherwood? Vous
oubliez que je suis Fran^ais 1"

*' Indeed, indeed, I forgot," exclaimed
Annie ; " if I had remembered "

'' I was merely jesting," said Claude, laugh-
ing ; " my interest is equally strong in both
countries. I am proud of being a Briton,
but France is very dear to me, — my heart
clings to my mother's country. I often
think how natural was the young King of
Bome's exclamation, 'Moi aussi, je suis

VOL. II. s

258 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Fran^ais V Yes, I divide my affections
between France and England. You know
what De Belloi says —

* Le ciel en misericorde au reste de la terre.
Fit separer la France^ et I'Aiigleterre par la mer.'

But how desultory our conversation is be-
coming ! We want Frobel here to square
our ideas. He proposes teaching children
mathematics from the cradle."

" I am glad Frobel is not my tutor," said
Sydney. " I hate mathematics !" Then,
abruptly enough, the boy added, " Lord
Claude, why don't you marry ?"

*' I can give you a Yerj good reason for
my old bachelorship, Sydney," said Claude,
laughing ; ''I cannot make a choice which
would please myself, and please the world
at the same time."

" The world I I thought you cared nothing
about the world. Are you not always
laughing at me for thinking of rank and
fashion, and those things ?"

" True, Sydney ; but we are all, whatever
we may profess, more or less cowardly with
regard to the opinions of a world we pretend
to despise. But, may I ask, what has set
your brain the task of speculating on your
own marriage and mine ?"

ANNE SHERWOOD. 259

" Oh ! nothing very pai-ticular, only I was
wondering, as Lord Dryburgh has no sons,
and yon are the next heir, who would come
after you. I wish you could adopt an heir,
as they used to in old Eome !"

" Why, my boy ?"

" Because then I hope you would choose
me. I should make a very good Marquis of
Dryburgh. I should, as papa would say,
represent the family with dignity."

" Indeed ! Well, so much for your specu-
lations on one subject ; now for your matri-
monial prospects T'

" To tell you the truth, I have been playing
at la grace every day for six weeks with
Alicia Seymour; and I am beginning to
wonder whether she will suppose I mean to
pay her serious attentions ! She is really a
very pretty girl, but she would not be a
match for me ! What do you think, my
Lord ?"

" Think, Sydney ! I think that you may
continue to play at la grace with Alicia for
seven or eight years to come without the
least danger of your attentions being mis-
construed ; after that period they might be
open to misconstruction 1"

" Thank you, my Lord, for your advice,"

260 ANNE SHERWOOD.

replied the boy, drawing himself up with an
air of grave self-satisfaction. " I really
should not like to break with her at present !
What should you do, my Lord, if you had
been drawn in to paying attention to a
person of an unsuitable rank to your own ?"

" Eeally, your mature speculations puzzle
me, Sydney !" said Claude, with a heightened
colour. " Miss Sherwood, you must pursue
a very eccentric plan in this boy's edu-
cation !"

"I do not claim the credit of forming
Sydney's character, my Lord," said Annie ;
'' Lady Adelaide particularly pointed out to
me that I was simply to furnish his head."

"And his heart?"

" Is left to nature ; its spontaneous growth
has never been interfered with, as far as I
know."

" Of course not," said Sydney ; "to inter-
fere with my natural bent would, indeed, be
useless labour. I was born w^hat I am !"

Lord Claude sighed and looked thoughtful ;
Annie thought he looked sad. She had been
much Aviser not to have thought about him
at all. She had much better have let her
thousrhts rest on the handsome little Grerman
master who daily attended her pupils, and

ANNE SHERWOOD. 261

paid her compliments which meant nothing
when translated, but sounded well in the
language of Schiller ; and while he paid her
those comphments, expatiated on his owti ex-
cellent qualities and talents. Yes, Annie would
have done well not to ponder on the sweet
sadness of Claude's face, for two long months

passed ere she saw it again, and then

But to speak en regie.

" How is he to-day ?" asked Lady Ade-
laide, at luncheon one day.

"In a raging fever ; quite delirious ;
doesn't knowHeinrich. I hear that Dryburgh
has been sent for," said Mr. Curzon.

"What is the matter, papa? Is Lord
Claude ill ?" exclaimed Sydney.

" Very ill, indeed," said Mr. Curzon. " I
am afraid, dangerously so."

" How unfortunate !" cried Sydney ; " he
promised to take me sledging next winter.
Dear me, how sorry I am !"

" Poor feUow !" said Mr. Curzon, with
feeling ; "it seems he caught this fever in a
Quixotic expedition in search of one of his
many objects of charity, in some wretched
prison. But, Miss Sherwood, you are iU !"

" No, thank you, Mr. Curzon," said Annie,
with a desperate effort, and continuing her

262 ANNE SHEUWOOD.

dinner, though each attempt to eat nearly
choked her. " I am quite well."

But Lady Adelaide's l3rnx eye was not to
be deceived, and, even while affecting to look
another way, she was reading Annie's very
soul. "I wonder how Amabel Dalrymple
will bear this ? it must be a great trial to
her, poor girl."

" Wliat do you mean ?" said Mr. Curzon,
with some surprise ; "I did not know they
were intimate."

" Dear me, did you not ? There has been
a most romantic attachment between Lord
Claude and Amabel for years, though family
affairs have hitherto prevented the denouement
desired by both parties. You know poor
Lord Claude's sentimental turn which he
derives from la helle France. I assure you
he has often talked to me of Amabel, quite
in the 'Pastor Fido' style."

" Ah, then, that is the secret of his con-
tinuing unmarried," said Mr. Curzon. " Miss
Sherwood, pray take a glass of wine ; let me
pour it out for you, your hand is shaking.
Are you often nervous ? Then, if he recovers,
Lady Adelaide, it will certainly be a match ?"

" Oh, yes," said Lady Adelaide, " un de
ces beaux jours ! We shall have VMizir

ANNE SHERWOOD. 263

if Amove at tlie St. Hubert to-niglit; you'll
go, Mr. Curzon?"

" I don't think it will be worth hearing."

" Oh, yes, it will. There's that pretty little
pocket edition of Adonis, Calzolari ; Claude
Douglas mischievously calls him Calzolaio.
You'll go, Mr. Curzon ?"

" I shall think about it ; but I really am
not in spirits for the affair."

" Not in spirits ! What is the matter ?"

" I am thinking of poor Douglas !" .

" Oh, yes, to be sure ; I had quite forgotten
him. I dare say he'll recover; and if he
does not, you know it will all be for the
best. A man of his romantic notions is not
fit for the w^orld. Besides, if he goes, it will
force Dryburgh to marry, and will probably
prove a good thing for my cousin Flora,
who is determined to have him, or rather his
title."

" You must excuse my agreeing with you
as to its being a good thing should Lord
Claude die," said Mr. Curzon ; " a host of
rare talents and generous passions would
perish with him."

"Mr. Curzon, you talk as solemnly as
' The Ancient Mariner 1' Miss Sherwood, let
the children go out directly ; later we shall

264 ANNE SHERWOOD.

have showers. You can go to the Boulevard
de Waterloo, and leave a note for me there."

Annie howed her head in acquiescence,
and withdrew. She went with languid steps
to her room ; hut once there, hurst into a
passionate flood of tears, more vehement
from their long-forced suppression. A few
minutes passed ; she rememhered her orders,
rose, and prepared to go out, though soh-
hing all the time like a hroken-hearted
child.

Annie was soon equipped, and was about
to leave her room, hut on opening her door
found Miss Dohson posted thereat, in a
crouching attitude, her face red as a peony.
" Lady Adelaide sent me to see why you
were not ready," she stammered, "and —
and I have dropped something ;" and Miss
Dohson continued kneeling on the floor, as
if in search of something she had dropped.

" Lost something 1 yes, I think you have,"
said Annie ; " you have lost all self-respect,
all good feehng, or you would not sell your-
self to be a spy 1"

" Miss Sherwood, what do you mean by
your insinuations?" cried Miss Dohson,
starting up.

" I mean that I despise and pity you !"

ANNE SHERWOOD. 265

said Annie, looking steadily in Miss Dob-
son's face, as she passed her by.

'' Depend on it. Lady Adelaide sliall bear
of this. Miss Sherwood ! I shall conceal
nothing from her !"

" Come, children !" said Annie, going down
stairs, without taking any notice of the last
remark. Miss Dobson went to report to
Lady Adelaide what had occurred, and the
governess walked out with her three pupils,
taking the path indicated.

They were obliged to pass Lord Claude's
house. Already, to the eye of anxious love,
it bore a funereal appearance. Annie's eyes
seemed fixed by fascination on that dwelling ;
in vain she strove to remove them.

" Poor Lord Claude !" said Sydney, with
much apparent feeling, and with a deep
sigh. Annie unconsciously pressed the boy's
hand. " I shall lose all my sledging 1" said
Sydney, with a deeper sigh. Annie dropped
his hand. '' Everybody loves him !" said
Sydney.

" You love the sledging better !" said
Annie, sharply. And then the thought came
into her mind, whether Claude (for his rank
was all forgotten) — whether Claude would be
left to die alone in the stranger's land 1

266 ANNE SHERWOOD.

wliat the beautiful Amabel would think, or
feel, or say; whether, if she really loved
him, and was beloved again, whether she
would burst the restraints imposed upon her
by an unfeeling w^orld's opinion, rush to
him, be his ministering angel, and share his
danger — perchance share his early grave.
Ah, if she did ! happy, happy Amabel !
What would Annie Sherwood give to be
allowed to approach the sufferer ! to minister
to him, even in the lowdiest offices, though
the price paid might be life itself, even like
the maiden who died of the plague (with
her lover), and whose farewell sigh the fallen
spirit stole, and bore to Heaven's gate, think-
ing it precious enough to Avin back a for-
feited Paradise.

There were quantities of straw laid down
in front of the rich man's house, and the
carriages rolled noiselessly over it; and
around him, in his splendid mansion, was
everything that wealth could purchase in
the shape of comfort and relief But a
burning fever Avas raging in his brain, riot-
ing in his blood, and Avild, fantastic visions
were dancing before him ; but there was no
gentle hand to smooth his pillow, and bathe
his burning forehead. The rich man was

ANNE SHERWOOD. 267

alone. The menials shrunk back; they
loved him ; he was a kind, generous master,
but they could not risk their lives for him —
the fever was catching ! All this the eye of
love saw plainly enough through the thick
stone walls, and the closed doors. And she
who saw it stood still in her misery, and
pressed her hand upon her bursting heart,
in a vain attempt to still its throbs, while
wild visions, as wild as fche sick man's, went
through her brain — ^visions of what she would
do, if she dared ! How she would forget
all consequences — the misery, the ruin it
might bring upon her — and go to him, if
only she could be sure that he would never
know of her presumptuous love 1

" I have a great mind to knock at the
door and ask how he is 1" exclaimed Sydney.
^' Shall I, Miss Sherwood?"

" Do what your own heart dictates,
Sydney," said Annie, in a broken voice.
Sydney rang the bell. At the same moment
a respectable-looking young woman of the
bourgeoise class came up. The door was
opened by Heinrich. " I want to see
milord," said the woman.

"You can't; he's ill."

'' That is the very reason I must see him."

268 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" I am sure you can't see him 1"
" I hear you want a nurse ?" said the
woman.

"We do; but we can't get one."
" I am willing to nurse milord."
*' Are you not afraid of the fever ?"
" Yes ; but your master once saved my
life ; I would risk something to save his."
" Well, then, I'm sure you're welcome."
" Is Lord Claude better ?" asked Sydney.
The man shook his head.
'' Is he worse ?"

He nodded, and Sydney turned away.
How Annie envied the w^oman on whom
the door closed ! How jealous she was
to think that that woman was to watch
hour after hour over Claude, and anticipate
his every want ! And yet how thankful
was she that a kind woman's heart was
beating near him, and that that woman's
heart was not Amabel Dalrymple's.

Lady Adelaide noted well the feverish
flush on Annie's face, the eyes swollen and
red with weeping, the nervous start she
gave every now and then when any one spoke
to her. Lady Adelaide knew Annie's heart
was breaking — she knew well why; and
just that time she chose for tyrannizing

ANNE SHERWOOD. 269

over and oppressing lier as slie had never
done before.

Mr. Curzon still refused to consent to her
dismissal, but now Lady Adelaide had her in
her power, and exercising that power with re-
fined cruelty, vfould of course force the ill-
used dependent to withdraw of herself.
But the proud lady miscalculated. Annie
was absorbed by grief; she was as one that
hears not. The insults directed towards
her she either saw not, or they had lost all
power to wound. She could not think of
herself at all — she thought only of Claude.
To leave Brussels while his fate was un-
certain would have been impossible, had she
conceived the thought, but such a thing had
never occurred to her. She knew Lady
Adelaide hated her, but she forgot it now —
forgot her very existence. Annie had but
one thought, waking or sleeping. The words
" a little better !" gave her life for the day ;
" not quite so well !" plunged her in despair.
At length came a glad sound, " he is out of
danger !" Sydney shouted, clapped his
hands, and rushing to Annie in his exube-
rant joy, kissed her cheek for the very first
time, and she forgave him that he talked con-
fidently of next winter's sledging. Mr.

270 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Curzon was really glad. Lady Adelaide
was out of humour.

The first day he went out, Lord Claude
looked like a ghost ; he was walking on the
Boulevard, leaning on Heinrich's arm. Annie
and Sydney met him ; he stopped and shook
hands with both.

"You, too, have been ill," said he to
Annie, in his low, sweet voice.

'' No, my Lord," said Annie, not trusting
herself to add more, for she was conscious
that he was examining every shade that
passed over her face; nay, that he w^as
reading her thoughts. Yes, he was reading
them ; and as he read, he started, and grew
even paler than before. In the little minute
in which Annie's cold, trembling hand had
rested in his, Claude had found out the secret
of her heart. The poor dependent of Lady
Adelaide Curzon loved him, the heir of high-
sounding titles ; and he — he loved her. It
was rather an unfortunate discovery to make;
but probably people of rank have a way of
getting over these little difiiculties of which
humble mortals are ignorant.

"I must turn,Heinrich," said Lord Claude;
'' I am faint and tired."

Annie did not dare to say " take care of so

ANNE SHERWOOD. 271

precious a life !" but she thought it, and
with her to think was to speak, for her face
was the mirror of her soul.

Once more Claude pressed her hand, looked
at her with a sorrowful glance, and with a
deep sigh turned away.

" Well, St. Preux is gone, I suppose^?" said
Lady Adelaide, at luncheon, a fortnight later.

''Yes, I saw him off," said Mr. Curzon,
" and his destination is Eome."

*' Dear me, what will he do there ?" said
Lady Adelaide ; " what an absurd place for a
sick man ! He will grow melancholy mad,
among the debris of the past !"

" I remarked to him, that in his place I
should prefer Naples," said Mr. Curzon;
" but he answered, with a sad smile, ' Eome
will suit my present humour. I am not in
very brilliant sphits ; besides, if I die soon,
I should like to be buried in Eome.' By the
bye, Sydney, you'U lose your sledging ; Lord
Claude threatens not to return to Brussels."

"I suppose you know that the Dal-
rymples are going to Italy ?" said Lady
Adelaide ; "of course, to please Amabel. I
think that she and Lord Claude have got
up the plan of going there between them.
Perhaps she wiU return a bride !"

272 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XXII.

Annie was so tlioroughly harassed in mind
and worn in health, that she felt inclined to
withdraw immediately from her appoint-
ment ; but when she contemplated such a
movement, she started with the remembrance,
that by leaving the Curzons she would lose
all chance of hearing anything of Claude.
She would leave, of course ; but she would
put oft* the day till she had heard that his
health was entirely re-established. Then,
especially if he married Miss Dalrymple, she
would remove from scenes and people who
would for ever recall to her remembrance
one, whom it would then become her duty to
forget. How many a destiny has been
marred, how many a life wasted, by the
words "not yet !"

While Annie was thinking over lier future
course, a letter from her sister arrived.
Ellen was expecting another cherub to in-
crease the happiness of her already happy
lot; and she longed so much, pleaded so

ANNE SHERWOOD. 273

earnestly, for Annie's presence, that she re-
solved to ask for a brief holiday. Probably
her request would have been refused, but
that Lady Adelaide had persuaded Mr. Curzon
to send Sydney to Harrow. Of course her
Ladyship's ultimate object was Annie's
dismissal; but she knew that, like most
weak men, her husband was very obstinate,
and so she determined to obtain one thing at
a time. Miss Sherwood was to conduct the
boy to England by way of Ostend.

The journey was a melancholy one to Annie.
Sydney's selfish nature was unchanged, and
though so young he was deeply imbued with
the worldly spirit ; nor had he ever shown
her much affection. Still, he was an object of
interest to her, from his rare intelligence ;
and yet more in that he was so intimately
associated in her mind with Claude Douglas.
She never could think of Claude without re-
membering the beautiful bright-eyed boy
who had always formed a third in their
conversation. When Annie parted from
Sydney, her tears flowed freely; for she
thought not only of leaving him, but of
another sadder parting. Sydney, however,
smiled exultingly as he shook hands with
her, and said —

VOL. II. T

274 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" I shall find great names on tlie walls at
Harrow, Miss Sherwood ! I shall write mine
among them, and when I am a great man,
people will go to look at it. Good-bye."

'' You will write to me, Sydney ?"

" Oh, yes, if I can."

" If you can ?"

"Why, you see, I shall have no end of
work ; it will be a great bore to sit down
and write, after I have done my "

" Never mind writing, then," said Annie ;
'* but I hope you will be a good boy, and do
your duty."

" Pray don't talk so, Miss Sherwood ; it
sounds so like brown-holland pinafores and
nursery habits ! I shall remember who I
am, and act as a Curzon should; Harrow
shall be one day proud of me. By the way,
did you know Lord Claude was a Harrow
boy ? I shall look for his name the first
thing I do ;" and nodding to Annie, the
proud, ambitious, but, alas ! heartless boy
turned away, and left the truest friend he
would ever meet, without the tribute of one
sigh.

"Ah," said Annie, as her lingering eye
followed the boy's retreating form, " Made-
moiselle Eoulard was right when she said to

ANNE SHERWOOD. 275

me, ' Expect neither attacliinent nor friend-
ship from those to whom you are but a hired
dependant. The governess who hopes to
form any permanent tie to her pupils, Hves
in a romantic dream, and wakes to bitter
disappointment.' "

The above-quoted Mademoiselle Eoulard
was a very good, conscientious sort of
person, but one who knew the world well ;
she had spent nearly thirty years in the
profession of a governess — ten of theni in
one family.

The farther Annie went from Brussels,
the sadder grew her heart ; and yet she was
going to Ellen — to dear Ellen, w^hose love
had been the one absorbing passion of her
soul, until lately — who was still the dearest
object in life to her, save the one distant
idol. But how a few hours' journey and
absence did away with all reality in the last
pages of Annie Sherwood's life ! The time
which she had spent in the beautiful city
was now a dream — half pleasing, half pain-
ful, and yet she could not wish it undreamt.
Foolish, foolish heart ! Annie should have
known better than to murmur,

" Give me the pleasure Vith tlie pain ;
So would I live— so love again !"

276 ANNE SHERWOOD.

Ambitious love has always something enno-
bling in its very weakness. There can be
no shame in the heart's choice, when we
have aspired to a star, and forgotten the
clods of earth; no shame, unless the fond
secret is discovered — and Annie foolishly
fancied her secret was her own, and that she
could keep it even from Ellen !

It was sunset — rich autumnal sunset —
wdien Annie Sherwood arrived in the most
beautiful of English cities, the elegant Bath,
where art and nature have striven which
shall bear away the palm of beauty, and
neither art nor nature have triumphed. The
city owes half its beauty to the loveliness of
surrounding nature, and nature is enhanced
by the gem set in her rich bosom.

Annie had gazed around her with delight,
as the train shot rapidly through the rich
scenery. But now it had reached its desti-
nation. Expecting friends crowded the
23latform, and of course looked in every
carriage but the right one for those they
awaited ; and in the midst of the confusion
Annie caught sight of Eichard Stancliff's
tall, slight figure rushing to the contrary
end of the long line of carriages, looking for
her, and utterly deaf to her voice. Then,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 277

provokingly enough, Annie's carriage was
the very, very last that the guard came to
open. But at length she was released — at
length Eichard's cordial grasp of her hand
reassured her that she was not to he impri-
soned.

" How is Ellen ? Is she here ? Did you
receive my letter ? Did you "

" She is quite well," answered Eichard,
hastily ; " hut I wouldn't let her come. I
thought it might he too much for her. Be-
sides, I had borrowed a gig that would only
hold two ; and But where' s your lug-
gage ? I had forgotten all about it ! How
you are altered !"

" Yes, I am two years older."

" Indeed you look younger instead of
older. The Curzons must have been kind
to you ! How different you looked when I
saw you first ! you had then just left the
Maberlys. Yes, the Curzons must have
been kind !"

" You have no idea of the extent of
their kindness !" said Annie, laughing ; and
Eichard thought it all earnest, and talked
very pleasantly of the endearing tie that
must exist between a governess and her
pupils, when the parents make her their

278 ANNE SHERWOOD.

friend ! The conversation diverged of course
to Ellen, for the young curate was a lover
still, and he had a thousand things to tell
(and how proudly he did tell them !) of the
precocious talents of his first-horn. The
prodigy was just two years old, and of course
had done and said a great many clever
things, and attempted more.

Then Eichard added how happy he and
Ellen were among their poor neighbours ;
what a blessing her gentle visitations had
been to many ; how she had nursed a sick
child so tenderly and patiently that she
had been the means of awakening its un-
godly parents from error, and thus had she
proved the guardian angel of a seemingly
lost family. He told how Ellen had read
the Scriptures to the blind old man and the
bedridden woman, and went like a pitying
spirit fi'om house to house, mildly reprov-
ing the guilty, encouraging the timid, in-
structing the ignorant, alluring to brighter
worlds by the traces of her footsteps, but
blushing at the praises even of Eichard
himself.

There is no saying how long Eichard
might have gone on dilating on the virtues
of his beloved, had not the cottage suddenly

ANNE SHERWOOD. 279

stood before tliem, and Ellen too, eagerly
wat oiling for their arrival.

How joyous was the greeting of the fond
sisters 1 how wildly Annie's heart beat as
she clasped Ellen in her arms, for a moment !
but only for a moment — even Claude and
Eome were forgotten.

" What a paradise this is !" exclaimed
Amiie, looking round at the sweet spot.

" And yet, perhaps we must leave it !"
said Ellen, sighing.

" Leave it !" repeated Annie, uneasily, as
the thought darted into her mind that per-
haps Bichard was about to lose his curacy.

" Has not Eichard told you, dear, that he
has the promise of a good living in Kent ?"

"No, indeed!"

" The truth is, I forgot it, Annie," said
Eichard; " I was so glad to see you, and had
so many things to tell. But I must now
repair my omission. Some friend unknown,
' who blushes to call' his goodness ' fame,'
has made interest for me with no less a per-
sonage than the P , and I am to have

Eectory, which is likely to fall in

soon. If I consulted only inclination, I
should certainly stay where I am, and so
would Ellen; but this thing seems pro-

280 ANNE SHERWOOD.

videntially put in our way. We have prayed
earnestly for direction, and our way seems
clear. You know our income is at present
very small. I care little about it, but still
I am often grieved to see poor Ellen under-
taking, for economy's sake, tasks for which
she is unfit. You would scarcely believe it,
but she irons all my shirts and neckcloths,
though I try to prevent her !"

" But I am so happy doing it, dearest !"
said Ellen, looking up with such a light in
her innocent eyes that Annie thought, " Oh,
how pleasant it would be if Claude Douglas
were a poor curate like Eichard, and loved
me as Eichard does Ellen, and I had to work
for him as Ellen does for Eichard 1" And
how deep was the sigh that followed the
vain thought !

"Is not Annie altered? I mean beau-
tified?" said Eichard, snatching off her
bonnet.

" She cannot be beautified in my eyes,"
«aid Ellen, fondly, kissing her. " But come,
you have not seen baby. He can say almost
anything. You should hear him repeat
Mason's hymn —

* Soon will the evening star, with silver ray.'

He has such a beautiful idea of emphasis,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 281

Annie. What do you think he said the
other day?"

Now, what the young mother's prodigy
said the other day, though of course highly
interesting to papa, mamma, and auntie, would
not be the least so, perhaps, to the reader, so
he must be spared the infliction of its recital.

By this time Annie was in the neat
sitting-room on the ground floor, arranged
very much in the sort of old-fashioned way
that the parlour had been at Merton in the
good old vicar's time ; and there was the
vicar's very identical old chair, shabby and
rubbed, but not more so than it had been
when he had last sat in it. Annie's eyes
fixed on it through a mist of tears.

" Good, kind Charles Turner sent it to
me, with all the dear old books," said Ellen,
" the moment he knew that we had settled
down here. Oh, Annie !" she continued, with
a broken voice, " how much has happened
since our father sat in this chair ! How
many, many mercies we have received !"

Annie did not answer — she could not.
She was reckoning up, not her mercies, but
her trials.

"Come to Aunt Annie, my pet," said
EUen, lifting a curtain which divided the

382 ANNE SHERWOOD.

front from tlie back room, which latter was
only used on grand occasions, for it rejoiced
in the magnificence of a handsome carpet, a
cabinet piano, white muslin curtains, and
china vases.

In a shady corner was sitting an old
gentleman, with a sweet child on his knee
busily employed in endeavours to pull a
watch to pieces ; but that, of course, was
only a proof of an inquiring mind, like
that of the young philosopher who ripped
open a pair of bellows in search of the wind.

" My dear Doctor 1 what a joyful sur-
prise !" exclaimed Annie ; " but don't kill
my nephew !" she added, as the Doctor
bounded from his chair, and very nearly let
the little boy fall.

"Eh! what! Annie Sherwood! WeU,
this is a surprise ! I thought you'd have
been married by this time to one of those
whiskered, mustached fellows who "

" Your surprise is not greater than mine.
Doctor," said Annie. " I had not the least
idea of finding you here." All this time
Annie was busily hugging her little godson,
who was equally busy in dislodging a bow
of ribbon from her dress, and in pulling
do^vn her back hair.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 283

" Wliy, you've grown quite handsome !"
said the Doctor, as the mass of jetty hair
fell round Anne's shoulders ; " quite hand-
some, I declare 1" The Doctor was not far
from speaking the truth, for Annie's face
had largely gained that deepest of all
beauties — intellectual grace, while the newly-
awakened feelings of her heart had spread
a roseate hue over her formerly pale cheeks.

It was long before sufficient order had
been established in the little circle for its
members to understand each other. That
object once attained, the first question was,
" How long can you stay ?"

"Not longer than three weeks," said
Annie.

" Not longer than three weeks 1" re-
peated Ellen, with a face of blank disap-
pointment.

" I am afraid I can't stay longer, clear,'*
said Annie, tenderly kissing her sister.

" Can't you write to Lady Adelaide, and
beg her to prolong your holiday ?"

"No, dear, I must not do that; she is rather
particular. My holiday is for a month ; in
the month must be reckoned the time spent
in travelling here, that which returning will
take also. Besides, I must stay a few days

284 ANNE SHERWOOD,

in London, where I have a little private
business."

" What is it ?" asked Ellen, for a secret
between Annie and herself seemed an im-
possibility.

" You must not ask me, dear Ellen," said
Annie, smiling, but you will know some day.
By the bye, do you know I have serious
thoughts of retiring from my professional
labours."

" Then j'-ou're going to be married !"
growled the Doctor.

i; ["No, Doctor, I shall never marry," said
Annie, seriously. "You forget how old I
am growing. Do you know I am twenty-
seven ?"

" Oh, I am so glad !" said Ellen.

" Wliat, glad I am growing old?"

" ISTo," said Ellen, laughing ; " but glad to
think that you have made up your mind to
stay at home with me. You must write and
tell the Curzons you can't return."

" Impossible !" said Annie, starting. " I
could not, dear Ellen; it would not be
right in me, to leave them without fair
warning. You would not wish me to do
what was wrong or dishonourable, Ellen,
I am sure !" she added quickly. " Am I

ANNE SHERWOOD. 285

not right, Eichard ? Must I not give tliem
warning ?"

" Yes, I tliink you should," said Eichard.
" The J ought to have time to provide a suc-
cessor ; but pray mention your intentions
directly you return, for indeed Ellen wants
you sadly."

" I will," said Annie, sighing.

" Brussels is a pleasant place, I suppose ?"
said Ellen.

"Oh yes," replied Annie, with animation.
'a)elightful !"

" Did you know any nice people there ?"
asked Eichard.

" Delightful people !" said the Doctor,
mimicking Annie's tone; ''as precious anest of
pickpockets as the United Kingdoms ever dis-
gorged. A set of fellows, bankrupts at home
in name and fortune, who go across the water
to fleece the unfortunate monkeys who trust
them, and to finish their style, I suppose. I
dare say you have found Lady Adelaide quite
an angel?"

" I have seen very little of her."

"And those young scrapegraces? The little
dog that used to toss up his head and ask,
* Do you remember who I am ?' How did
you get on with him?"

286 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Perfectly well !" said Annie. " We have
been on excellent terms. Sydney is a very
clever and intelligent boy 1"

" And very fond of you, no doubt !" said
the Doctor.

" We were inseparable," said Annie.

" By the bye," said Eichard, " what has
become of that charming Trench Scotchman,
whom you spoke of in your first letters, but
have never named since ?"

" He ! Oh, he is gone I think, I believe
to Italy, or somewhere."

" Oh ! oh !" grunted the Doctor, as he
watched the fluctuating colour in Annie's
cheeks.

" I suppose he will return to Brussels,
during the time that you are so conscienti-
ously giving Lady Adelaide fair warning ?"

" I really don't know ; I am not in his
counsels," said Annie, very busily playing
with her nephew's curls, very busily too
hiding her blushing face away behind his
shoulders, while pretending to play bo-peep.

''I suppose you speak French quite con
amore ?'' added the Doctor.

" I have made some progress in speaking,
I hope," said Annie.

" Like Trench poetry, eh ?"

ANNE SHERWOOD. 287

" I do," said Annie, " though I believe I
am singular in my taste. I like the modern
school of French poetry extremely, beginning
with Andre Chenier."

" When I was young, Miss Sherwood,"
said the Doctor, " I studied French (on the
principle that one fool makes many) because
others did the same. I learnt to say hong
jour and avez vousfang, with so vile an accent,
that when I talked I was obliged to put my
hands over my ears, not to hear my own
words ! Still I picked up a good deal of the
gibberish, and I, too, grew fond of poetry,
but of all I read I can only remember this
pretty, pathetic verse." Then the old man
recited in very good French —

" Le monde de sots est tout rempli,
Et pour ue les jamais voir,
II faut se cacher chez lui,
Et casser sou miroir !"

" Very good advice, Doctor, but my glass
is not my own, otherwise I might profit by
it!"

" I suppose you've heard plenty of French
poetry from the boy's master, eh ? Those
fellows make love to every girl they meet."

" Yes, I heard a great deal of poetry from
Sydney's master, but he did not make love

288 ANNE SHERWOOD.

to me," said Annie, trying to laugli off the
subject; " bnt. Doctor, what has become of
the clever vender of iron 'skivers/ as he
called them?"

" Don't ask me anything about him,"
said the Doctor, half vexed, and yet unable
to suppress the laugh that would revel in
his good-humoured eyes. " The dog turned
out ungrateful ; ran away, and joined a com-
pany of strolling players. I heard of him
ranting Othello in a barn the other day. I
suppose he'll die in the workhouse, in the
course of life's ' wicissitoodinous changes !' "

" I suppose he didn't run away with any
forks and spoons. Doctor?"

" Who told you he did ? I didn't say so !"
said the Doctor, nervously fidgetting in his
chair, and in his turn eager to divert the
conversation into another channel. "Do
you remember," he asked quickly, " do you
remember a quick, clever little woman, full
of furbelows and flounces and talk, that had

a place at Sir William S 's ? She had

an odd, high-sounding name."

" I know who you mean, Hortensia May-
nard; she was very kind-hearted," said
Annie.

" To be sure she was, and knew a great

ANNE SHERWOOD. 289

many lords and ladies. AVell, she's mar-
ried !"

" Married ?" repeated Annie.

"Yes — is that very wonderful?"

" Bather so ; governesses so seldom
marry ."

" Nevertheless, she is married," said the
Doctor.

" Well and happily, I hope ?"

" That rather depends on whether she is
a contented disposition. But I must tell
you all ahout it, and afterwards you can go
on with what you were going to say about
the Scotch Frenchman."

" I was not going to say anything about
him," said Annie, colouring.

" Nonsense, 3^ou know you were ; but now
for my discourse. About three weeks ago,
as I was passing a great church, to which
earls and countesses, and young guardsmen
and heiresses go to be married, because it's
the fashion — I saw by the string of carriages
standing at the doors, that a wedding was
going on. What must I do, like an old fool,
as I always am, but stand still till the bride
came out. Of course I expected to see a
pretty girl, after waiting long enough to
physic and kill a whole ward of patients !

VOL. II. u

290 ANNE SHERWOOD.

WelljOut she came at last — the expected bride !
Bather a matronly figure ; her face I couldn't
see, for she hid her blushes in a Brobdignag

' bucket/ as Mrs. H calls those sort of

things. But the bridegroom ! I am a young
man — a Celadon ! an Adonis, compared to
him ! Something between Lismehago and
Quixote ! I wanted sadly to pull some one's
sleeve, and ask if the poor old fellow hadn't
come to be buried, and by mistake had got
married instead. I had the curiosity to ask
afterwards who he was, and found that he
was a lieutenant in the army on half-pay,
who was marrying his sixth wife, or some-
thing of that sort. I rather think the
groomsmen were his grandsons ! At last I
caught a glimpse of the lady's face, and soon
recognised the little woman who came to
Ellen's wedding, and talked so much of the
Marquis of some unpronounceable some-
thing. I suppose, poor thing, she was tired
of geographies and grammars — perhaps tired
of her place and her mistress's airs !"

" Doctor, why will you persist in calling
an ' appointment' a place ?"

" Because it is one. You know very well
the whole pack of you are treated like servants,
and to call your employment by a fine name,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 291

is only gilding a bitter pill. I will call
tilings by their names, whoever I offend;
I'm determined I will."

" Poor Hortensia !" said Annie.

" Poor l" repeated the Doctor, senten-
tionsly ; "I don't see what pity she wants.
Wasn't she married at St. George's ? Hadn't
she two titles at her wedding ? Didn't she
wear a beautiful lace gown, and wasn't it all
put in the papers ? Didn't Gunter provide
the breakfast? Poor Hortensia, indeed !"

" But what a dismal fate is hers now I"

" She is vegetating in the country, some-
where in Wales, on the Lieutenant's half-
pay, I think," said the Doctor. " But what
of that? If she does sometimes say, like
Lady Montagu's woman,

' Oh, odious, odious trees !'

I dare say she soon makes up for it, with

' Come what may, I have been blessed.'

Then hasn't she got her wedding gown to
look at ? And her veil, and her flowers,
and kickshaws ? Pity her ! I should as
soon think of pitying the Great Mogul !"

" You are spiteful, Doctor," said Annie.
"But do tell me if you have seen Mrs.
Harrington."

u 2

292 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Of course I have ; but don't you know
the news ?"

" No, indeed ; my friend who lives with
the Harringtons, has not written to me for
some time. Have you heard from Bertha,
Ellen?"

" Not for the last three months," said
EUen.

"Then my news will be news indeed,"
said the Doctor. " They have experienced
some of what our old friend called * life's
wicissitoodinous changes.' Harrington, I am
glad to say, is tied by the leg. He has had
a paralytic stroke, and lost the use of his
limbs. She, like the good angel she always
was, forgives and forgets, waits on him
tenderly night and day. The fellow seems
at last a little sensible of and grateful for

her devotion. Your friend. Miss what's

her name?"

" Somerton."

" Well, she is not like Miss Hortensia
Maynard, married, only going to be. But
whether it is to a marquis, a dancing-master,
or a footman, I don't know ; I dare say
it's one or the other."

ANNE SHERWOOD. 29S

CHAPTER XXIII.

The very day after Annie's arrival at Bath,
she found herself an aunt for the second
time, and ere her pleasant visit terminated,
she once more took on herself the office of
godmother, giving to the new comer her
own name, at Ellen's entreaty.

Though full of anxiety for Claude Douglas,,
remembering the uncertain state of his
health, Annie could not do other than yield
to the pleasant atmosphere of peace and com-
fort in which she was for awhile living ; to
see Ellen so deeply blessed, outweighed all
her own trials, and when they parted, Annie's
spirit was at once softened and elevated.

Happy had it been for Annie Sherwood
had that parting never been 1 but it was
only for a short season ! Annie would soon
return, and for ever. In that assured hope,
the sisters forgot to weep, parting with
smiles, and utterly unconscious of any of
those painful presentiments which often come
as shadows cast before trials.

294 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Only tliree montlis, darling!" said Annie,
as slie kissed her sister.

" They will soon be gone !" responded
Ellen.

" Auntie come soon ! bring Henry horse 1"
said the curly-headed boy.

" Very soon, dear pet. One more kiss,
EUen."

" God bless you, Annie !" said Eichard.
" Eead the little book I put in your bag,
and Kyle's tracts. Promise me you will."

" And bring me Csesar Malan's Sermons
in French."

" Shall I send them over ?"

" Oh no y I can wait till you can come
yourself. You will so soon be with us !"

" Good-bye 1 God bless you, once more !"
said Annie, looking back with a bright
smile.

" I commend you to your father's God !"
said Eichard, solemnly; and Annie was
gone.

The young curate sighed.

"What is that deep sigh for, dearest?"
asked Ellen, passing her arm affectionately
through Eichard' s.

" It was following poor Annie, love."

" Why, dear ? I am not the least anxious

ANNE SHERWOOD. 295

about her now. We sliall so soon have her
with ns."

" I hope so !" said Eichard.

"You doubt it, then?"

" To tell you the truth, I do. She has
some tie to Brussels w^hich will keep her
there or make her leave it with a crushed
heart."

'' Dear me, Hichard, what can have sug-
gested such an idea to your mind?"

" The Doctor, the day before he left us ;
otherwise I never should have thought of
such a thing. She is certainly attached to
that Lord Claude Douglas, and in all human
probability, hopelessly."

" Impossible ! Annie would never keep a
secret from me. She has always told me her
inward thoughts."

" And did you return the confidence, my
Ellen?"

'' Nearly, I think," said Ellen ; " and yet
my conscience whispers that I did not tell
her all, not quite all, about that shabby
curate with the broken-rimmed hat, that

used to go by our little window in N

Street every evening at five o'clock, long,
long ago. But I really think you are wrong
about Annie. She has too high a spirit to

296 ANNE SHERWOOD,

yield to the weakness of loving one who is
indifferent to her."

" But if he should not be indifferent ?"
said Eichard.

" Then you know all will end well. 'No
one would dare to trifle with such a woman
as Annie !" replied Ellen, who still thought
of her sister with the same sort of proud re-
liance, with which she had been accustomed
to speak of her in olden times as her " elder
sister."

" Well, you are right to hope the best,
dearest," said Eichard, with another sigh;
" but now I must go and see my sick."

" Are you going to Widow Bentham's ?"

" Yes, dear."

'' Then put this piece of flannel in your
pocket ; I promised her some because she
suffers from rheumatism. Try and come
round by the mill, returning, that you may
leave this little packet of tea at the old
soldier's, and here are ten shillings which
Annie gave me for the poor. But I have
never told you what she has done, Eichard.
She has put all the money she has received
from the Curzons into a savings bank in
Henry's name."

*' Grod bless her kind heart !" said Eichard,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 297

with emotion ; " but we must not take it from
her, Ellen."

"Of course not/' said Ellen; ''the little
she has saved must he a store for herself, the
last person in the world she is likely to
think of. You don't know, you never can
know, Kichard, the generous, self-sacrificing
heart of my dear Annie."

" She is my Ellen's sister 1" said Eichard ;
and taking the parcels from Ellen's hand, he
turned into the garden path, and yielded up
his mind to the solemn thoughts a Christian
pastor should have, when he is just going
forth to minister among the aged, the sick,
and the dying.

7ic iiJ ^i *

On her arrival in London, Annie proceeded

to her old lodgings in N Street, and

immediately busied herself in making up
tw^o parcels of MSS., one of which she was
going to carry in the morning to her old

friend, the editor of the F , and which

contained three distinct tales : the other held
the MS. of a three -volume novel. The novel
was an ambitious attempt, which she never
thought of without a beating heart, and
which she was about to submit to one of the
great publishers wdiose names strike some-

298 ANNE SHERWOOD.

times more terror into a timid young au-
thor, tlian that of the autocrat into many a
serf.

That MS. Annie thought would decide
the destiny of her Hfe : if it succeeded — if it
were received and acknowledged as the work
of genius, it would raise her from obscurity,
would wipe off the stain which the name of
dependent had fixed upon her, and would
annihilate the distance between her station
and that of Claude. How often she had
heard him say genius was real nobihty !
What a joyful thought it was that her
writings might perchance, ere long, reach
him — charm his imagination, and make liis
heart beat with sympathy and enthusiasm !
But would he recognise the anonymous
author as she who had shared so many of
his intellectual dreams? Would he here
and there recognise beautiful images he had
himself suggested, eloquent words he had
himself spoken, and which she had loved
and adopted because they w^ere his ? Would
he recognise himself in her hero ? Per-
chance he would, but still he would never
suspect that more than warm friendship and
esteem had guided her pen. Perhaps he
would recognise her in every page, and if

ANNE SHERWOOD. 399

they never met again, she would at least
live in his memory.

In Brussels, Annie knew that she must
hear of Claude's health and welfare. There,
too, she would learn whether Amabel Dal-
rymple was the chosen of his heart or not.
Those two questions settled, Annie would
redeem the promise she had made her sister,
settle down with her family in their quiet
country home, educate little Henry, and
learn to go about doing good as Eichard
and Ellen did — and if the life which she
proposed to lead did not give the serene
happiness she had observed in them, at least
it would bring with it contentment and
resignation !

Such were Annie's thoughts during a
long, sleepless night, for sleep was banished
by excitement. Eising at a very early hour,
something suggested to Annie to take a

wall^ in the E Square Gardens, just to

glance at the old young women whom she
had been accustomed to meet there, prome-
nading their charges, and especially to see
Julie, whose gentle face and sweet voice had
often come back to her memory in visions,
since they parted.

It was a cold autumn morning. The

300 ANNE SHERWOOD.

leaves, still laden with summer's dust, were
rustling and dancing down in showers on
the wings of a sharp east wind. There were
still the same prematurely old, care-worn,
wrinkled faces — at least some of them, for
several families had changed their gover-
nesses ; but those who replaced the dismissed
ones, showed exactly the usual type. A few
of the poor women had married men as poor
as themselves, by w^ay of bettering their
condition ; two had become the wives of
tradesmen — one of a grocer, the other of a
bookseller. Luck}^ girl ! she had gone into
his shop humbly to solicit permission to
have letters (in answer to an advertisement)
left at his shop ; and after a daily visit of
six weeks, the result was hopeless disap-
pointment. Some of the letters contained
remarks which made the poor governess's
cheek glow, and her tears drop. The book-
seller one day made her an offer ; perhaps
actuated by pity, perhaps by the pride of
securing a wife so superior to his own class.
How^ever that might be, the offer was not
analysed, but gratefully accepted ; for Miss

had been long without employment,

and was quite destitute of friends able or
wilHng to assist her. Moreover, she had

ANNE SHERWOOD. 301

caught sight of a handsomely furnished
room behind the shop, with luxurious sofas
and easy chairs, a cabinet piano, and re-
cherche engravings. Something had made
her contrast that room with some at the top
of the great fashionable houses — with bare
floors or threadbare carpets, hard, uneasy
chairs, w^orm-eaten tables, and tinkHng
pianos ; curtainless windows, permitting ex-
tensive views of long ranges of mews !
There was a contrast, too, between the quiet-
ness of the shopkeeper's parlour, and the
noise of the spoilt, crying, scratching,
tyrannical children. Beyond all, she thought
of the lady mother, at whose step the
governess would tremble like a detected
pickpocket, if the trace of a tear was to be
seen on the cheeks of the hopeful progeny !

So the governess had wisely given up the
hope of living in " a nobleman or gentleman's
family," as she had humbly begged per-
mission to do in her advertisement, and had
married the bookseller.

Happy governess ! happy bookseller ! She
had acquired more than she had ever dared
to hope for — a home ! He had obtained a
superior woman for his wife, and could look
up and down his street with the satisfied air

302 ANNE SHERWOOD.

of a man who had done something which
raised him far above his less ambitious
neighbours.

Annie missed Hortensia Ma3rQard and her
anecdotes of people of rank — saw nothing of
Julie, but met Clarisse. Clarisse was not
much altered, only her face had grown
sharper, and she laughed louder and oftener.
She was harder than she had been ; the
children who walked by her hand w^ere afraid
of her ; she w^as their tyrant. They seldom
saw their mother, and had neither the op-
portunity nor the courage to complain. They
had grown like their preceptress, cunning and
deceitful; they often succeeded in outwit-
ting her.

" Do you know anything of Julie An-
gelet ?" asked Annie.

" Yes, she has been ver' imprudent, ma
chere. She has gone contre mon avis, elle n'a
pas voulu m'ecouter, and enfin, she has
killed lierseK wid le chagrin and le travail !"

" You cannot mean that she is dead ?"

" Vy no, not quite, pas tout a fait, mais
elle se meurt."

'' Dreadfal 1" exclaimed Annie. " But you
have seen her — of course you have seen her ?"

" Ma foi, non ! As good go in de lion's

ANNE SHERWOOD. 303

cage as go to my-lady — my-lady von
dragon 1"

" But who takes care of poor Julie ?"

" Vy, just no one at all ! Ecoutez, ma
chere ; I say, Julie, amusez vous 1 Slie not
listen. She vork, vork always to please my-
lady. My-lady storm and rage like de sea.
She say ' York, vork. Mademoiselle. Yy you
not make de children clever ? Yy you not
give dem esprit ?' Ma foi ! Julie try all she
can ; mais les enfants not vork du tout, dey si
mechants, si betes. Julie von't beat dem when
I say beat ; wouldn't scold ; try again. Cette
pauvre Julie ! Ah, quel coeur ! quel coeur !
mais enfin, elle se meurt 1"

" I will go to her !" exclaimed Annie.

" My-lady put you hors de la porte ! Ah,
if Julie avait voulu m'ecouter !"

" She would have been dishonourable if
she had," said Annie. " Better die a martyr,
than betray one's trust !"

" Yer fine dat in a roman ! Ma chere, you
will know wiser some day ! Attendez 1 at-
tendez 1 TJn de ces jours vous serez endurcie
comme moi ! You know dis poesie :

" O juste Nemesis ! si jamais je puis etre
Le plus fort a mon tour, si je puis me voir maitre,
Je serai dur, mediant, intraitable, sans foi,
Sanguinaire, cruel comme on Test avec moi.'*

304 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Cela vous fait liorreur ?" she added, as
the repugnance her words inspired was plainly
painted on Annie's face. " Yonce it made
me horror too ! Yes, vonce I was credule ;
vn ce I had bon coeur 1 Adieu ! amusez
vous bien !" and with a laugh that sounded
harsh and discordant, the hardened woman
turned awa}^ giving a visibly hard tug to
the hand of the child by her side, who re-
turned the favour hj accidefitall^ iYeiidmg on
her corns.

Annie had just turned out of the Gardens,
when Clarisse called to her through the
railings —

" Yous rappelez-vous cette rousse An-
glaise, vot lived wid a Comtesse, and vos
too good for to speak us ?"

" Yes, I remember."

*' Yell, she has had von chute. She live
wid a modiste, Oxford Street. Go to de
magazin, achetez y quelque-chose ; you can
riez, laugh her at de nose !"

" Thank you, it would give me no plea-
sure. I must hasten to poor Julie."

" Inutile, I tell you ; elle se meurt. Cela
vous attristerait."

" But I may console her !" said Annie.

" Ah, vous avez bon ca?ur ! So had I

ANNE SHERWOOD. 305

vonce, but it is done ! c'est fini 1" said
Clarisse, sighing, "but it vont come back !"

* * 7^ *

On a wretched bed, in a more wretched
room, lay the dpng governess of the rich
man's family. Still a girl in years ; the
trusting, simple innocence of youth still
lingered in her soft blue eyes. She w^as
alone — quite alone ; and ever and anon put
forth her attenuated hand to reach a glass
of toast and water which stood on a chair
by the bedside, or to get a basin which con-
tained a quantity of blood, for Julie had
broken a bloodvessel. After each exertion,
she sank back exhausted, and paler than her
sheets would have been, had they been clean.

It seemed strange in that home of opu-
lence, that any one should lie there djing
alone, unsoothed by the commonplace com-
forts ! Yery strange ! but it is true, reader
— true as the Gospel story of the diseased
beggar dying at the gate of Dives, w^ho w^as
clothed in purple and fine linen !

Lady w^as absent ; the feelings of

the other ladies of the family were so refined
that they could not witness suffering. So,
wdien Mademoiselle was so maladroite as to
be taken dangerously ill, they had ordered

VOL. II. X

306 ANNE SHERWOOD.

the carriage and left the house, leaving the
sick governess in the cook's charge. But
the cook — poor, fat, unwieldy soul — though
perhaps she meant to do what she could, for
cooks are usually soft-hearted, had quite
enough occupation to roast and hoil, and
make pastry for the ladies and gentlemen in
the servants' hall; so she put all that
" madamosel" could possibly want on a chair
near her. The doctor said she mustn't talk,
and what good could there be in sitting and
watching her ? None in the world.

At last some one, perhaps the doctor, had
suggested greater care, so a person was sent
for to sit by the sick girl. The person in
question was a German soubrette, or some-
thing of that sort. She just waited till
poor Julie dozed off; then having found
the sick-room very dull, she was going in
quest of company, when a bright idea struck
her. She would like to peep into the
drawers ! No sooner thought than acted
upon ; and when the dying girl opened her
eyes, her nurse was deep in the perusal of a
packet of letters. The natural exclamation
of grief and indignation in the sufferer
startled her a little. " You know the doctor
forbid your talking," she exclaimed, after a

ANNE SHERAVOOD. 307

moment, with all the coolness of effrontery ;
" if you wont mind what he tells you — if
you will break his rules, you must expect to
suffer. Ah, more spitting of blood ! that's
just what I expected !"

Again exhausted nature found a temporary
repose, and Julie's pale cheek, here and
there stained with crimson, sunk on the
pillow. The watcher having satisfied her
curiosity, went away to chat with the butler.
Just then Annie entered. " Poor, poor
Julie 1" was all she uttered, as she sunk on
her knees beside the desolate bed, and took
the white thin hand that hung down so help-
lessly ; but Julie heard her not. She was
in a blessed dream, kneeling beside her
mother in the Evangelical congregation of
her native valley, and presently her thin
lips quivered, opened, and she began to
chant, in a feeble, broken voice — ■

" L'Eternel lui-mcme

Paitra ses tronpeaux ;

La tendresse extreme

Sera leur rcpos.
* * * *

" Aux celestes rives,

L'agueau nous paitra ;

La ileuve d'eaii vive

Nous abreuvera !"

X 2

808 A^'XE SHERWOOD.

And then Julie smiled a sweet, sad smile,
and murmured, " Oui, ma mere, je viens — je
viens ! Attends-moi !" Then the smile
faded away, and her vision changed, for she
added — " Seule ! bien seule ! Ah! Madame
la Comtesse, j'ai fait mon possible ! Ne me
renvoyez pas ! Charlotte, recitez votre verbe-
Emilie, faites votre devoir. Dites, Madame
la Comtesse, etes-vous contente de moi ? Je
ne demande pas a aller an salon ! Oh, non !
non ! je ne me suis jamais plainte de vous,
jamais ! Demain — oui, demain, j'aurai deux
cents francs, ma mere cherie; je te les enverrai
tons. Ah, je ferai tout ce qui depend de
moi pour garder ma place ! Mais j'ai si
mal a la poitrine ! si mal ! si mal ! And
poor Julie woke herself with heartrending
sobs.

Surprise, joy to see a friend's sympathising
face bending over her, was too much for the
feeble frame of Julie. She could not speak,
but stretched out her arms, and made a help-
less effort to throw them round Annie.

" Don't talk, dear Julie!*' whispered Annie,
while she tenderly supported her, and the
girl's feeble head rested on her shoulder.
" Ee comforted, you shall not be left to the
mercy of careless strangers. I will take

ANNE SHERWOOD. 309

care of you, and will bring a kind doctor to
do you good. Poor, poor Julie I"

Julie tried to smile ; but a convulsive strus-
gle quivered on her lips. She looked up wist-
fully in Annie's flice, then at a little Geneva
w^atch that lay beside her on the bed, and
murmuring "Oh, ma mere!" died — died
while the merry bells were ringing for a
bridal.

A deep awe settled upon Annie Sherwood ;
she did not stir nor utter a word, scarcely
did she dare to breathe, and the fair clay
still rested in her arms, when, an hour later,
some one knocked softly, very softly at the
door. Still Annie did not move, she v^^as
spell-bound. The door opened; a person
entered vdih slow, noiseless steps, as if death
were already know^n to be there.

" Is she better ?" asked a voice, low and
tremulous with emotion. Annie started,
and looked up at the doctor as she supposed,
for a gentleman in black stood before her.
" Better ! yes she is better," replied Annie ;
" the rich man's bond-slave is free ! She is
gone, sir," she continued solemnl}^, and
raising her hand appealingly to heaven ;
" she is gone to bear evidence against him at
the bar of One w^ho judges the oppressor !'

310 AXXE SHERWOOD.

" Gone ! dead ! Grracious Heaven, I come
too late !" exclaimed the young man. " Poor,
poor Julie ! I came to save her — to "

'' She has been long past the reach of art
or skill !" said Annie.

" Juhe ! Juhe ! my sweet, innocent Julie !"
repeated the young man, sinking on his
knees beside the bed, and reverently clasping
the marble hand in his. " Oh, to recal the
past ! to bring thee back for one short hour !
Oh, Juhe ! Julie !"

" Did you try every tiling? Are you sure
you tried everything?" said Annie.

" Nothing ! nothing !" he replied.

" How ! are you not the doctor ?"

" I am Lady 's son."

" You are ! Oh, how then could you let
your mother's dependent die thus 1 alone,
neglected ! — as in your noble house the very
hound should not be left to die !"

'' I knew nothing, absolutely nothing of
her illness till to-day," exclaimed Mr. Den-
ham, with a burst of grief, "or I should
have been here !"

"I did not know she had one friend in
this house !" said Annie, sadly.

" No, she had no friend ! I loved her —
but "

ANNE SHERWOOD. 311

"But you wanted manly courage to de-
fend her ! You have let her die ! let her be
slowly murdered by labour and cruelty !'*
said Annie, Avith indignant energy, which
even the presence of the holy dead could not
suppress.

" I deserve your reproaches, and more !"
said Mr. Denham.

" You do ! But for a mother's broken
heart, I should laud the mercy that has
liberated her from her hard fate."

" You are her friend," said the young
man, quickly ; " take possession of her letters
and papers, or they will all be "

" Eead — I know it 1" said Annie.

" And you will stay by her till "

" 'No, sir ; I will not stay, but shall have
this poor empty casket removed. It held a

bright jewel once — but now Oh, if

you had heard her last words ; the mournful
tenderness, the helpless yearning with which
she called upon her far-off mother's name ;
but she was in the house of the stranger,
and she lived and died alone !"

312 ANNE SHERWOOD.

CHAPTEE XXIV.

"I AM assuredly very mucli surprised that
you should have taken the liberty of remain-
ing three days beyond your allotted time,
Miss Sherwood !" said Lady Adelaide. " A
person in your position ought to be well
aware that the nature of her duties will
not permit such a lengthened absence. Of
course you will find the children very much
fallen back in their studies. I must really
talk to Mr. Curzon about it. We must have
people upon whom we can depend, in our em-
ployment."

" I am extremely sorry to have seemed
neglectful of my duties," said Annie ; " but
the delay was quite unavoidable. I only
remained in London to follow a poor friend
to her grave, who had none other to perform
the last sad duties for her."

" That is no excuse whatever. You told
me you had only one relation in the world
(which was one reason of my engaging you,
supposing that your interest would lie with

ANNE SHERWOOD. 313

your pupils, not out of the house). I pre-
sume that your sister is not dead, as you are
not in deep mourning, and no other death
could have excused your conduct."

Annie made no reply ; but she thought,
'' It will not be for long. The moment I
hear anynews of Claude, I will givewarning !"

Annie had had the remains of the hapless
Julie removed to her own lodgings, and had
followed her to her lonely resting-place.
Eandolph Denham, too, had stood by, evin-
cing the deepest grief when earth was given
to earth. Perhaps his grief was not un-
mingled with remorse, for he had really
loved Julie, only not well enough to conquer
his family pride — only not well enough to
protect her from the insults of his family.
It w^as well and wisely done when the con-
soler came, and bore the weary to her rest !

Annie had written to the poor mother,
conveying as gently as she could the heart-
breaking news of her bereavement — sending
one of three fair locks she had severed from
Julie's head ; one she had given to Randolph
Denham, and as he gazed on it, some of the
hard dross of his aristocratic nature was
transmuted.

Julie's little wardrobe, and few letters and

314 ANNE SHERWOOD.

books, had also been sent to ber mother by
Annie's kind care ; and all the necessary
arrangements had so taken up her time, that
she had exceeded her leave of absence almost
unconsciously.

Being obliged to leave London without
seeing Mrs. Harrington or Bertha, Annie
wrote to both, and heard in return a con-
firmation of Dr. Sinclair's information. Mrs.
Harrington's letter breathed a spirit of
thankfulness to that God who had brought
— in her case — so much good out of evil.
Of her husband she spoke mth the utmost
tenderness and devotion. Bertha's letter
made Annie smile, even in the midst of sad-
ness. She wrote to confess that her ajSi-
anced lover was none other than Annie's
old fervent admirer, Charles Turner. Bertha
had met him again and again in her many
happy holidays, which were all spent at
Merton with her mother; and somehow —
she did not quite know how it came about —
they were engaged. Bertha had written
very hesitatingly — she felt so sure that
Annie would ridicule her choice. She had
good reasons for supposmg that her friend
undervalued Charles Turner's excellent quali-
ties of head and heart.

ANNE SHERV/OOD. 315

Bertlia was mistaken. Annie did full
justice to her rustic friend now, and warmly
applauded Bertlia' s choice.

The young couple were to he married
immediately, and Bertha's mother was to
live with them ever after.

Day after day went by, and poor Annie
heard nothing of Claude. He seemed for-
gotten ; his name was never pronounced.
Sydney being gone, the other boys appeared
to have lost all interest in Sydney's friend.
Everything went on much as usual ; Lady
Adelaide exerted a petty tyranny ; Mr.
Curzon was kind in his Avay, only it was
such a tiresome way; the children were
tolerably good, provided they were amused,
and all their selfish whims considered.

Miss Dobson preserved towards Annie
Sherwood something which she meant to be
a dignified reserve ; but it was as little like
dignity as a red woollen nightcap is like a
tiara of gems.

Annie missed Sydney; he was v/anting
to her daily and hourly ; and he never wrote
to make up for his absence, or to show
that he remembered her kindness with
gratitude.

Time hung heavily on the governess's

316 ANNE SHERWOOD.

hands. She turned to writing with increased
avidity. In consequence of her sad occupa-
tion with regard to poor Julie's affairs, Annie
had been obliged to leave her own business
in London undone. At the last minute she
had sent her parcels of MSS. to the good
Doctor, telling him what had happened, beg-
ging him to act for her, and to keep her
secret. She knew he would do all that he
was asked, and more, and slie could afford to
await the result.

But, whatever occupied Annie's mind, it
always returned to Claude. Was he living ?
Certainly, or some notice would have ap-
peared in the papers, which she constantly
searched for the purpose of ascertaining if
his name were mentioned.

Two months after Annie's return to
Brussels, there came a letter from the Doctor,
kind and cordial as usual, but of course con-
taining some teasing. His news was good,
however ; the old patron had offered sixty-
five guineas for some small MSS., and, best
of all, the novel, the long- cherished ambitious
novel was sold, and that advantageously.
Its fate with the public had yet to be de-
cided, and Annie resolved to preserve her
secret, even from Ellen, till she knew

ANNE SHERWOOD. 317

whetlier disappointment or triumph awaited
lier. She v/rote to her sister, telhng of her
minor success, and sending her its proceeds
to be employed for the coming move from
Bath to Kent. The price of the great MS.
privately went to swell little Henry's fortune
in the savings bank.

On the whole, our heroine felt considerably
elated ; and had she been sure about Claude,
quite sure that he was well and happy, she
would have been so too, especially if the
Dalrymples were not in Italy! They had
certainly left Brussels, or Annie must have
met them in the Park or on the Boulevard.

Lately, the beautiful Lady Adelaide had
rather fallen off in her looks ; she had ceased
to have absolute command over herself.
She had given way to spleen and ill-humour ;
and spleen and ill-humour Avill line the
fairest forehead, and make the brightest
cheek pallid. The timid literary lady was as
intimate as ever with Lady Adelaide, and
much more intimate than ever with Mr.
Curzon ; indeed, her attentions to him as-
sumed quite a tender as2:>ect ; and Mr. Curzon
began to think the literary lady not quite so
old, not quite so ugly, as he had at first
thought her. Mr. Curzon never Avent be-

318 ANNE SHERWOOD.

yond allowing himself to be admired ; and
lie certainly was a strikingly handsome man,
and wonld have been more so, if he had had
the least change of expression — indeed, if he
could occasionally have forgotten " who and
what he was 1" But with all his pride of
place, Mr. Curzon had hon cceur, only a very,
very little mind.

Annie was now totally throw^n on her own
resources for companionship. The result of
her solitude was an improvement in her re-
flective powers, but a prostration of her
spirits. Frequent letters from Eichard and
Ellen (who often wrote jointly) came to re-
mind Annie of her promised return. They
took it for granted that her intended warn-
ing had been given and accepted : this mis-
apprehension both pained and embarrassed
our heroine. Truly she yearned for ker
sister's society, and the renewed endearments
of a real home ; but how could she tear her-
self from the spot wdiere she had known and
loved Claude Douglas, wdiile yet uncertain of
his fate ? On the other hand, she felt grieved
and ashamed to put off her return to Ellen
from time to time without having any suffi-
cient excuse to oifer for disappointing her
washes.

ANNE SHERWOOD. 319

While lier mind was most uneasily vacil-
lating between contradictory wishes and re-
solutions, an incident occurred which imme-
diately decided her movements. She wrote
to her sister, "Don't be grieved with me,
dearest Ellen, for disappointing your wishes
— or rather for delaying their accomphsh-
ment — but I have agreed to remain with
the CWzons till Walter goes to Harrow.
Perhaps it will be a year before he is con-
sidered fit; but that will soon slip away,
and I shall be of more use to you in a
twelvemonth's time than I should be now.
Eemember, dearest, that none of my plans
are renounced — they are only deferred. I
fally intend to monopolise Harry's educa-
tion."

Annie's decision hinged on a trifle, — a
seeming accident. She had a very untidy
work-basket (not a very uncommon thing,
unhappily, with a literary lady), and she
had been so engaged with other matters,
that the untidy basket remained untouched,
and probably unnoticed, in her bed-room,
from the time of her leaving for her holiday.
There it might have remained, had she not
heard Miss Dobson enlarging to Lady Ade-
laide on the governess's untidiness, and

820 ANNE SHERWOOD.

bringing forward as a proof the disorder of
her w^ork.

''How should yon know?" said Lady
Adelaide, shar23ly.

"I — I went into her room yesterday/'
stammered Dobson, who w^as rather afraid
lest she should have overstepped her orders.

" And pray, w^hat business had you
there ?" asked Lady Adelaide, who resented
mean tricks, unless she had herself devised
them.

" I went to — to look for an Encyclopaedia,
your Ladyship."

''You wTnt to look for no such thing,
Dobson ; you w^ent to satisfy your own cu-
riosity."

" Dear me, how your Ladyship finds out
everything !"

" Yes ; you know^ it is useless to try and
deceive me," said Lady Adelaide ; adding —
"And, pray Avliat did you find there to
satisfy you?"

" A letter !" said Dobson, who was trem-
bling.

" A letter ! Well, go on."

" At the bottom of the basket "

" Oh ! then you dived to the bottom ?"

" Your Ladyship knows everything ! At

AXNE SHERWOOD. 3i?l

the bottom of the basket I saw a letter,
sealed with arms surmounted by a coronet 1"

If Lady Adelaide or Dobson had been
acute, they would have noticed that some
one who had been walking up- stairs with a
slow, languid step (hearing, inevitably, every
word of the conversation, yet little caring
whether she heard it or not), suddenly
rushed onvv^ard like an arrow from a bow,
heedless of the conclusion tlie conversation
might have.

" She can't have seen it, for the seal is
unbroken ; some one has put it in there,
wdiile she was in England."

" Bring it to me when she is out to-mor-

J?
row.

"Yes, my Lady."

" Who is it from, Dobson?"

" Eeally, I can't tell, my Lady."

" Nonsense, you know well enough !"

" But, your Ladyship !"

" I insist upon knowing."

" Well, then, I did just hold it up to the
light, and "

"Wliatthen?"

" AVell, then, your Ladyship, — but I know
you'll be very angry vvdth me !"

" Angry with a thing like you ! Speak V*

VOL. II. Y

322 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" Well, tlien, my Lady, I think — I believe
— I'm afraid (oil, liow wicked she is !) — I'm
afraid it's from Mr. Curzon !"

" Is that all, you silly fool ? If you are
quite sure that the letter comes from Mr.
Curzon, you need not bring it to me ; I never
meddle in his affairs. But do you know his
writing' ?"

" No — yes — that is to say, my Lady — "

" That is to say, you have been prying
into Mr. Curzon 's business, as you no doubt
would into mine, if you dared ! But you
know me, Dobson — you know me ; beware
how you go too far !" and Lady Adelaide
gave her creature a look which made her
shrink in her poor, wrinkled skin, as if she
had heard the hiss of a rattlesnake.

Despite her many little gains, Dobson
began to hate her bondage, and if she could
have sold herself for a higher price, she
w^ould have had no compunction in betraj-
ing the confidence of her patroness.

But to return to Annie, as she sat in her
lonely room, but lonely now no more. She
held in her trembling hands the precious
letter, still unopened, while her heart beat
wdtli tumultuous joy in recognising Claude's
ivriting, and in reading the post-mark of the

ANNE SHERWOOD. 323

Eternal City — Eoma ! Eoma ! the goal of all
her thoughts, hopes, fears, and wishes,

"I scarcely know how, my dear Miss
Sherwood, to excuse to you or to myself, the
liberty which I take in writing to you. But
why should I talk to you of excuses ? You
are not of the world, and were you, I should
need no apology, for then I should have had
no temptation to transgress those conven-
tionalities which would have formed your
law. But why do I thus intrude on you ?
I scarcely know myself, unless it be that,
hke ' the man of many friends,' I have
none, and turn instinctively to the only
heart wdiich, since my mother's death, seems
to have understood mine.

" How often I have wished for your com-
panionship in my solitary rambles about
Rome ! — Bome, w^hose very name is poetry !
— Rome, which in all my wanderings I had
never before seen ; for although ' I loved her
from my boyhood,' I resolved to reserve the
sight of the world's wonder for a period of
life when my feelings would be more accor-
dant with the scenes I should explore. With
what holy reverence I tread upon the dust
of ages ! the dust of Earth's masters !

The learned and the virtuosi would make
Y 2

/

324 ANXE SHERWOOD.

Litter niockeiy of me for walking about
Eome, as in a dream, Avitli no more erudite
tome for a guide-book than the sentimental
production of an impassioned woman ! But
I could well endure a few sarcasms, Avhile I
can secure the company of the matchlQss
' Corinne ;' encore plus heureux si je pouvais
me defaire dece meprisable Oswald! Oswald,
who was too contemptibly weak to resolve
on making his own happiness, in defiance of
a world which had nothing to offer him in
exchange for the felicity he sacrificed upon
her tinselled altars. You, at least, will ap-
plaud my choice of a cicerone, and I shall
never converse with ' Corinne' without re-
membering you.

" I remember some years since (though
with a lesser interest), ' Consuelo' and I
wandered together through Venice. Have
you ever read ' Consuelo ?' If not, do read
it ; as a sentimental fiction it is only inferior
to ' Corinne,' and is full of poetry and fine
thoughts.

" But to return to Eome. I shall make no
fruitless efforts to describe to you my
thoughts on her, but

' I would tliat my tongue could utter
The tlioufrlits tliat arise in me !'

ANNE SHERWOOD. 325

The one wliicli always rises to the surface is
Filicaja's tender lamentation — ■

' Deh fossi tu men bell' o almeii piu forte !'

You know the exquisite opening of the poem,

'Italia!— oh, Italia!' &c.

''Get Leopardi, if you have not a copy, but
only read the first piece ; it begins thus : —

' 0 Patria mia, vedo le mura e gli archi,
E le coloimc e i simulacri e I'errae ,

Torri degli avi nostri,
Ma la gloria uoii vedo !'

The whole piece is exquisite.

" No modern Italian poet has equalled
Leopardi's majestic fragments.

" Ah, if you were here ! But I dare not, in
imagination, conjure up a possible vision
which waking reality must so soon dispel !
I talked of not returning to Brussels ; but I
must, I certainly shall, if you are there, if
only to talk over Eome with you.

" I was entreated last night ' d'assister a
un bal" A ball in Eome ! dan(?ing in Eome !
The suggestion is painful. Only imagine
dancing over the ashes of Caesar ! I marvel
that they should propose it, even to a
Frenchman ! They forget that I am also
Scotch, and, besides, they evidently entertain
the common, vulgar notion, that a French-

326 ANNE SHERWOOD.

man is born to dance ' as the sparks fly
upwards.'

*' I know nothing more harassing to the
spirit, than the tone of English society here.
A party went to the opening of a tomb the
other day, and — and carried their luncheon
with them ! Imagine sandwiches and Avine-
glasses on the tomb of a Cecilia Metella,

perhaps ! Lady is here, with a daughter

who is a beauty and an heiress — she is much
the fashion, and seen everywhere. Some-
times I have thought her capable of rather a
higher destiny than dancing with insipid
fops all the evening, and evening after even-
ing ; but on farther acquaintance, I fear she
is a triiler.

" I see very little of the gay world ;
indeed —

' My (lays among the dead are passed !'

I believe people think me morbid or affected.
My best acquaintance, i.e., at once the most
profitable and agreeable, is a young American
sculptor, wdiose own head is a model of
antique beauty, and wdiose genius is as
plainly delineated in his pure, intellectual
countenance, as in his works. ^Vlien they
come to be know^n, they must give him
a place beside his gifted countryman,

ANNE SHERWOOD. 327

Hyram Powers, who, from tlie humble em-
ployment of a journeyman watchmaker, has
risen to be a poet in enduring marble. Wliat
a destiny ! I like the idea of a young genius
in a young country ! How bright and fresh
must its emanations be ! — somethins: like
the first young stars that hung over a newly-
created world ! But to come back to my
sculptor friend, whom I admire enthusiasti-
cally. I cannot refrain from giving you a
description of him. Picture to yourself a
tall, slight, elegant figure, with just enough
fragility to occasion a shght stoop, which yet
takes nothing from his grace. A Grecian
profile, quite pure ; large, dark, very dark
eyes, full of tenderness and thought rather
than of fire ; hair, black, soft, luxuriant, long
and curling, beautiful enough for a woman's
head ; and withal, a demeanour so quiet and
subdued, that it might almost be called sad.
He speaks little, till the chord is touched
which awakes his soul's poetry — then the
beautiful face wakes up, and speaks eloquent
words before the voice is heard. I should
Hke you to see Waldo — — ; and yet no ;
probably no woman would see and not love
him. 'No, I would rather that you should
never see him.

3^28 ANNE SHERWOOD.

" We talk of visiting Athens together — I
know every inch of the ground, hut never
tire of Greece. We shall then go I know
not where, hut at least to some part of the
* Morgen-lande.' Did the beauty of that
expression ever strike you ? I am sure it
must have 1 Before travelling eastw^ard, I
shall make a rapid descent on Brussels for a
few days.

* * * vH

" After an interval of two months, I have
taken up the foregoing sheet of random, un-
connected sentences, and w^ondered at my
own temerity in writing them. To you,
Annie Sherwood, they say too much, or too
little ! How shall I explain myself, to you
in whom I have found not only that rare
thing, an intellectual companion, hut also —
forgive the boldness of the remark — a tender
friend !

''I dreamt of returning to Brussels, and
seeing you again ; but it must not be, or — I
should never have the resolution to

'* Brilliant as a vain world may estimate my
lot, there is a deep shadow on its sunshine,
and that shadow must not fall on those I
love. A skeleton sits down at my banquets,
which wants even the veil and the crow^n

ANNE SHERWOOD. 329

of roses with which the Epicurean voluptu-
ary was wont to mask the memento of mor-
tality. I must gaze on the appalling relic
naked, and I must gaze on it alone !

"But I will not, I must not enlarge on my
sorrows, real or imaginary. You — you have
enough of your ov/n, more than enough, in
being placed in a position equally unsuited
to the elevation of your mind and the tender-
ness of your heart. I cannot help hoping
that you may soon exchange the ungenial
atmosphere in which you live, for your
sister's pleasant home, which you have so
often described to me. I ought to say, per-
haps, that you may soon exchange it for a
home of your own ; but no, I cannot — I am
not generous enough to think of you as
making the happiness of another man.

"Adieu, malgre moi, je reviens a ma langue
maternelle, lorsque c'est mon coeur qui parle !
Adieu, chere Miss Sherwood. Prenez bon
courage au milieu des chagrins qui traversent
votre vie. Souvenez-vous que la Providence
finit toujours, par jeter un pen de lumiere et
de paix dans les ames qui ont confiance en
elle.

" Priez Dieu pour moi quand mon souvenir
vous reviendra, je pars pour la Grece avec

VOL. II. z

330 ANNE SHERWOOD.

un lourd fardeau, et je sens saigner tons les
coups que le sort m'a deja portes. Plus
j'avance, plus je m'isole, cette pensee est
affreuse pour moi. Adieu, encore une fois
adieu 1 Croyez que j'emporte un amer regret,
c'est celui de n'avoir pas pu vous consoler,
comme j'aurais voulu le faire, bien souvent,
je ne vous oublierai jamais ! non jamais !
" Je vous embrasse du fond de mon ame 1

" Claude."

Adieu, tel est le mot de cette etrange vie,
Ou uotre main fletrit la fleur qu'elle a ravie,
Avant qu'a I'oeil epris, n'ait briUe sa coiileur ;
Ou par iustant I'espoir en un sein se repose,
AJnsi qu'un vain rayon, et toujours y depose
Le germe aigri de la douleur.

Je le sais, non jamais le destin ne repare,
L'outrage fait aux coeurs, qu'ici-bas il separe,
De mon front eprouve, ce beau reve est exclu,
J'ai compris qu'entre miUe, une ame etait fidele,
Et qu' en son nid la joyeuse liirondeUe,
Avec I'ete ne revient pas.

Adieu ! Quand on a dit cette amere parole,

II n'en faut plus cherclier une autre qui console,

II faut meler ses pleurs et

END OF VOL. II.